Ice In Her Veins
by SofinaSand
Summary: Karys Stark was not like her bold and beautiful sister Lyanna, or her noble and stalwart brother Ned. Reserved and reclusive, with hair the colour of snow and eyes like frozen pools, she was always a child of winter. The smallfolk of Winterfell said she had ice in her veins and a cold unforgiving heart.
1. Chapter 1: Siblings

The arrow thrummed through the air and hit the target with a dull thud.

"Hah," barked Brandon, "not bad little brother, but you spend too much time overthinking. Release faster, fire on instinct."

Ned lowered the bow with a pensive look on his face. "But what about aiming? Surely it's better to fire straight and true than firing too fast and risk missing the target?"

Brandon clapped his hand onto his younger brother's shoulder. "You won't be saying that when an enemy is running at you. Better to shoot quickly and slow them down than spend so long aiming they can get close enough to put a dagger in your eye!"

Ned chewed his lip in thought and made to raise the bow again when suddenly,

"I want a go. Let me have a go Brandon, please. I could hit the target, I know it," called little Lyanna, appearing as if from nowhere at her eldest brother's side. She tugged at his heavy cloak and repeated, "Please!"

Brandon chuckled and ruffled his sister's hair, but Ned looked around and said softly "Lyanna, where is Benjen? You were supposed to be watching him."

"He's right here, Ned." Lyanna said, somewhat petulantly gesturing behind her to where the youngest Stark was sat, in the middle of a puddle.

Soon the practice yard was filed with sound, Brandon chuckling heartily as he tried to pick up the squirming Benjen without getting covered in muck, Ned scolding Lyanna for abandoning her care of her younger brother, and Lyanna starting up the old argument of how she didn't see why she should always be the one looking after Brandon just because she was a girl. Why couldn't she be in the practice yard and Benjen left with the maester, or a servant or someone?

Looking out from the mezzanine platform above the practice yard, Karys watched the scene below. Since their mother Lyarra died, Benjen wouldn't stay with the maester or a servant. Instead he clung to his siblings. He didn't cry or wail, but he made it known in his own way that any other babysitter would not do. He was not yet four, and trotted around after his older siblings like a little pup following the pack.

Brandon, the oldest had returned from his fostering at Barrowtown when their mother had become ill at the beginning of the year, just as her second oldest brother Ned had done from the Vale. Although there had been a swelling sense of despair as their mother's condition had deteriorated, it had been nice to have them home. Though their mother had passed a few months ago, her brothers had stayed. Partly because of the formal mourning period, and partly to support their father Rickard, their sisters and youngest brother through this difficult time.

"When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives." Or so her father often said. If anything their mother's death had strengthened the bond between the siblings. Lyanna was tearing around after Brandon, having him teach her how to ride as fast as he did, finally glad to have someone else with the wolf's blood around. Karys meanwhile had been happiest at the return of Ned. Like her, he was quiet and reserved. When his daily practice was done, they often spent hours next to the hearth in the main solar, talking quietly or even reading in silence. Ned didn't push her or berate her for her taciturnity. They could sit together for hours in perfectly comfortable silence, him reading books full of the stories of the age of heroes, and her embroidering or stitching together shirts. Sometimes they would even go to the godswood together and stare silently at the face carved into the bark, the strange eyes crying blood-red tears. This was when she felt closest to her brother, waiting to hear the Old Gods talk.

A startled yelp jerked Karys out of her reverie. In the scramble below, Lyanna had made a grab for the bow, still taught in Ned's hand. In surprise he had released and the arrow had shot across the yard. It hit the cross bean of the stables, startling one of the horses and causing a stableboy to dive out of the way of a sharp kick. Karys could hear a loud, scolding voice coming from the other end of the practice yard, and knew that soon her father would appear to set his children right. Before he arrived, she slipped along the platform and back into the castle.

Moving quickly and lightly she darted down a corridor and a flight of stairs. Hurrying across the great hall, she slipped out of the door and headed towards the godswood. It was a cold day today, by far the coldest that year. Autumn was close to its end and there was a bite in the air than predicted a snowfall. Karys didn't care. She was built for the winter.

Karys had been born less than a year after the birth of her elder sister Lyanna. The kinder (or more prudent) folk said that it was a year 'twice blessed', whilst in secret many referred to her and Lyanna as 'wildling twins" in reference to the short time between births. However a birth year was one of the few things she and Lyanna shared. Lyanna was bold and wolf-blooded like their brother Brandon. She fought, and shouted, and laughed with wild abandon. She had thick dark hair, the colour of night, and dark grey eyes that twinkled with mischief. As wild as she was, she was also beautiful, and Karys sometimes caught her sister defiantly pulling at her carefully plaited hair, with the intent of making herself look more dishevelled. Even though she was only seven, everyone at Winterfell was certain that Lyanna was going to be a great beauty. Karys was very different in appearance to her sister. As dark as Lyanna's hair was, Karys' hair was pale - white as the first snow. Not quite the silver of the royal house of Targaryen, but a cool blonde that, though uncommon, was not unheard of in the North. Her eyes too were not the shade of dark grey that Lyanna's were, but a pale blue, the colour of an icy pool - just like her brother Benjen. She was slightly scrawny, with with long thin fingers that could work a needle much faster than her sister. Many called her 'a true winter's child', for though they had been born in the same year, one crucial event separated Lyanna and Karys. Two months before her mother was brought to bed with her, the white raven had arrived at Winterfell from the Citadel announcing the beginning of winter. Three days after the first snowfall, Karys had been born. Their mother had often said that Lyanna burned with the bright ferocity of autumn leaves, and Karys was as cool and quiet as fresh snow. Thinking of her mother still made Karys sad, and she slowed her pace as she approached the great white tree.

There was nowhere more peaceful than this, she thought. She took a deep breath and inhaled the smell of leaf mulch as she crunched over the remains of this short autumn. She loved to be outside, to feel the Northern earth beneath her feet, to smell that scent of life and death that surrounded the the saplings pushing through the rotting detritus. She knew the names of so many plants and flowers, they were her own special language, each one with its own properties, its own symbolism.

She lifted her head and closed her eyes as a cold wind rustled through the trees in the godswood. Karys swayed gently on the spot, feeling the movement of the trees around her. She allowed her thoughts to drift. She saw a group of people on horseback setting out across the Northern landscape. Who were they? Where were they going? She did not know, but still the image blossomed behind her closed eyes. Then suddenly yet gently, she felt it - the light cold kiss against her cheek. The image vanished and she opened her eye to stare at the face carved into the tree before her. The air was starting to fill with tiny flakes of snow that drifted softly towards the earth.

Karys raised her eyes to the canopy and inhaled once more.

"Winter is coming"


	2. Chapter 2: Needles

Across The North stretched acres and acres of white landscape, scarred here and there by great trenches worn into the snow by the coming and going of the inhabitants of Winterfell and the small villages around it. Every day the same complaints rang through the halls of the great castle - boots that were never quite dry, a rogue draught that nobody could find the source of, how long would the stores last for? Anywhere else in the Seven Kingdoms, such things would be said with an air of panic or desperation, but this was The North. It snowed here even in summer, and the people here were made of sterner stuff. The threat of wet feet, icy blasts and near starvation were nothing to the Northmen, they spoke of such things as any Southerner would talk of a an unseasonably damp day in spring, or a split hem in their favourite tunic. They bore the winter with an endurance that would be considered legendary south of The Neck. Moreover, they never turned their grumbles against their liege lord. Smallfolk and minor noble houses, farmers and bannermen, whores and smiths - if one thing united them all it was the unwavering loyalty to the Warden of the North and his family.

It was not through fear that the Starks held the North, nor through filling the coffers of opportune allies. It was a deeper allegiance that they commanded. The Starks had been Kings of Winter back in the Age of Heroes, their blood was that of The First Men. For all that time they had held the largest of the seven kingdoms with the sole promise that as sure as the sun would rise, winter was coming, and as sure as winter was coming, the Starks would endure anything to see The North through. They would cut their own food rations, they would forgo the wealth and luxury that other great houses had, and they would ride on the front lines of armies instead of command from a tent. They knelt to the dragon kings instead of sacrificing northern lives in a futile war, they treated their bannermen with respect, and they alone continued to send good, noble men to defend the wall long after the Southron Lords forgot about the dangers that the old stories told them lurked there. The Starks were The North, and The North remembered that...

From the tall Library tower, Karys surveyed the northern landscape. This was her home, and this was her season. Karys loved to read, and she loved to learn above all things. She had spent an enjoyable morning surrounded by books, diving into tales from the dawn age and reading the histories of the great kings of Westeros. Standing at the window the air felt fresh and chill against her cheeks, and she longed to run out into that great white snowscape. She stretched a hand out of the window to feel the flakes falling from the sky. It had been three years of winter, and she still found it so beautiful. The snow floated down onto her outstretched arm and disappeared into the thick white wool of her dress. As if her pale blonde hair, her milky skin and her icy eyes were not enough to earn her the title of 'Winter's Child', Karys' favourite colour was white and most of her clothes reflected this. White was the colour of possibility, and here in The North white was the colour of camouflage, and she like to imagine that she could disappear into a blizzard or drift and that winter itself would protect her from harm in the wild.

Somewhere in the keep a bell chimed, and Karys knew that she had to leave her peaceful solitude to resume her day's lessons. This afternoon was embroidery and etiquette. Karys dutifully made her way towards the room in which her lessons would take place. Already adept at embroidery and a master of all the pleasantries expected of the daughter of a great house, there was nothing to excite Karys about the afternoon, except perhaps the almost inevitable battle that would take place between their tutor and Lyanna. Even though she was the younger sister, Karys was well ahead of Lyanna in many of their classes. She was a fast learner, faster than her older sister. But more than that she saw the benefit in doing well in her classes and getting the boring parts over and done with, whereas Lyanna fought their tutor and their father every step of the way.

Almost as if conjured by the thought, as Karys turned a corner into the great hall she caught sight of Lyanna leaning against the wall and talking covertly to one of the kitchen boys. He couldn't be more than eleven, and the look on his face seemed to show that he was in a quandary. As Karys approached she heard Lyanna murmuring "I know you could get one for me if you tried, you're clever enough. More clever than cook. Just one cake, please."

The boy squirmed and bit his lip. He opened his mouth to say something, but froze at the sight of Karys a few steps away. Lyanna turned around and snapped "Karys! Don't do that! I hate it when you loom out of nowhere like a little ghost. I should get the smith to forge a collar and bell for you."

Karys kept her face impassive at this, and in a soft voice she said "Lessons." Lyanna waved her hand in a wild and careless way, "yes, yes - in a minute. Let me just finish here..."

Karys looked at the kitchen boy, whose eyes had slid from Karys to Lyanna again, and whose cheeks were slightly flushed. Karys knew why. Lyanna had a mysterious way of making the men around Winterfell do whatever she wanted, and it was a talent she was all too aware of. Approaching her eleventh year, Lyanna was beginning to show the signs of leaving childhood behind, more so than Karys who remained a skinny pale child. Some of the younger male servants had begun to take notice of her. Since their older brothers had returned to their foster homes, and their father remained occupied with the business of running The North, Lyanna had begun to push boundaries as far as she could - sneaking food from kitchens, hiding from her lessons, and persuading servants to bring her treats. She was as wolf-blooded as their oldest brother Brandon and the approaching adolescence was only going to make things worse. Karys knew that it was one thing for a son to be wild, but she doubted whether a daughter would be allowed so free a reign.

Lyanna was lucky she was born in The North, Karys thought. In any of the other kingdoms, except perhaps for Dorne if Karys' reading was correct, Lyanna would have been expected to look pretty, sing well, and be a dutiful daughter before becoming a dutiful wife. In The North, where everyone had to pull their weight to get through winter, women were treated more liberally. Rickard Stark had ensured that his daughters had been well provided for, learning to ride horses, read history, and even keep detailed accounts. Karys and Lyanna were free to roam around Winterfell as they saw fit, and since the departure of their older brothers, were even permitted to sit with their father in his study as he dealt with his official business as Warden of the North. Karys took this last duty more seriously than her sister. Indeed she quite enjoyed it. Unlike Lyanna, who could not sit still long enough, Karys was more than happy to sit silently as her father went through checking the grain stores for the rest of winter, sorting through the letters brought by the ravens with maester Luwin. She would sit with a quill and make notes when her father met with the smallfolk who came in supplication, asking for aid or justice from their lord. Karys knew that she would not inherit Winterfell, that was Brandon's lot, but there may come a day when her father may have to leave on business and there would have to be a Stark in Wintefell to take care of things. She would do her duty by the pack, and she would make sure that Wintefell endured.

Taking a deep breath she cast her most baleful look at Lyanna. Though she was a girl of few words, she could muster a look that had even made bold Brandon back away in fear and quiet Ned chew his lip in worry. Lyanna, sensing the brewing storm, straightened herself from leaning against the wall, and conceded that they should go to their lessons.

Shortly after, they were seated with their embroidery on their knees. Their handmaids jabbered away at each other about patterns and stitches, but Lyanna and Karys sat close to each other in silence, Lyanna fumbling with the needle as Kary's fingers flew to the fabric. With a great sigh, Lyanna rested the pattern on her knee and leant her forehead next to her sister's before murmuring, "What is the point of learning embroidery when we have a dressmaker? I don't want to wear anything I've made. And no future husband is going to want me mending his shirt when I can barely cross-stitch. I'll have to send all his clothes to you."

Karys shot a smile at Lyanna. At least she was self-aware. Lyanna took this as a sign to continue, "And anyway, aren't there more important things for the wife of a lord to learn? For a daughter of House Stark to learn?"

Karys rolled her eyes, She knew exactly where Lyanna was going with this. "Oh come on Karys, surely you can see that is just as important for us to know a bit of swordplay and warcraft. Shouldn't we be able to defend Winterfell against her enemies?" Lyanna placed her hand on Kary's forearm and leant in closer, "I mean, what is he point in you learning to keep all those accounts and counting all that grain if you can't defend it all against a... a... hoard of wildlings or Ironborn? What if father, Brandon and Ned were all called away, who will defend Wintefell?"

Karys had to concede that point to her. She sighed and looked up at her sister and said, "Thats all very true, Lya, but you know that all those Southron lords that father hopes we will marry one of don't want a woman who can wield a sword or string a bow. They want us to look pretty and give them children. Father will never be able to marry us off if we turn up with arms like Brandon from waving around a sword."

Lyanna snorted most inelegantly at this image. "Besides," Karys continued softly, "men think it's unladylike to be a warrior. From what I've read they can be a bit funny about the idea of women taking their defence into their own hands..."

At this Lyanna gave her sister a long surveying look, and finally said. "Well I refuse to make myself inferior for the sake of a man. Any man who wants to take me as his lady wife will take me as I am and no less. I deserve that." After a quick pause she leant in closer and squeezed Karys' forearm gently, "And so do you, sister."

Karys smiled at her sister in gratitude and they both returned to their needlework.


	3. Chapter 3: Boughs

When their classes were done, Karys left the room and instead of following the handmaidens back to the solar to gossip about who had been caught kissing what stable boy, she headed for her private chambers. She quickly changed her indoor shoes for thick boots and threw a heavy fur-lined cloak around her shoulders. Then she made her way to the entrance hall and out the door into the grounds of Winterfell.

The conversation with Lyanna had made her think. Never before had Lyanna talked so... vividly about her - their - destiny to be married off to a man they didn't yet know. As adamant as Lyanna had been about not being married off to a man who didn't know her worth, Karys was certain, from what Old Nan had said and what she had read in books, that she and Lyanna would be married off to whomever made the best bargain, or could prove themselves the strongest ally. She couldn't believe that her father would ever marry his daughters of to someone who would be cruel or hurt them, he loved his girls very much, but she suspected he would expect them to do their duty whatever he decided.

She also thought with a great sense of dismay that Lyanna, beautiful bold Lyanna who was the eldest daughter, would probably make the best match, the most prestigious match. She would have to take whatever was left, whichever lord's son would settle for her...

She picked up pace as this thought sent a shot of adrenaline through her and her stomach turned over. The cold air stung her face, but the cold had never bothered Karys, and she drew strength from the sensation. But still the thought perturbed her.

Before long she found herself in front of the haunting face of the weirwood tree. Would the Old Gods hear her childish fears if she prayed to them? Would they care? She reached out and touched the pale bark of the tree and took a steadying breath, willing the gods to hear her. "Don't let me be sold to someone cruel. Don't leave me to the whim of some man who doesn't care about me."

As she prayed the same vision floated in front of her eyes - a group of people on horseback setting out across a winter landscape. Now she could see that one of the group was a young woman. The snow on the ground was melting and in the sky, and a pale sun hung in the air, its beams of light breaking through the clouds. And from somewhere, a soft voice was whispering - words in a language she couldn't understand. Ancient words of warning and of comfort...

A small wave of panic coursed through her veins as the image hovered behind her closed lids and she thought "I don't want to be sent far away from the North where the Old Gods can't find me and protect me. Don't let me leave undefended..."

*CRACK*

Karys jerked back from the tree and fell over the mass of tangled white roots at her feet. She hit the ground and her hands scraped against the bark. She rolled over several times before coming to rest in a patch of soft mulch at the base of the tree, just as a branch plummeted towards the earth, missing her by a hair's breadth. Blinking up at the blood-red leaves, she heard a great booming shout from across the godswood, "KARYS!"

She could hear running feet and a pair of strong hands were pulling her upright. Soon she was looking into the worried face of her father, "Are you alright, I saw the branch... did it hit you? Karys..." He leant over her, inspecting her scalp and face for wounds.

"I'm fine father," she murmured, "just scraped my..." she raised her palms upwards and Rickard held his daughter's tiny hands in his, thin trickles of blood falling into his palms.

"Are you sure you are alright? If that branch had hit you it could have..." Rickard swallowed, he could not bear the thought of burying another family member, so soon after loosing his beloved wife. "What were you doing out here anyway? It will be dark soon."

He pulled Karys up and seated her on a flat stone next to the pool that lay at the base of the heart tree. He seated himself on a thick protruding root and Karys could feel him staring at her, inquisitively. "I was praying father. Praying for..." She paused. She didn't want to admit the things she had prayed for. "... For Lyanna. She was... upset... during our embroidery class today."

Rickard sighed and looked up at the face carved into the heart tree. "I have been praying for Lyanna too," he said, with a touch of remorse in his voice, "Everyday she seems to grow wilder and more implacable... I wonder if it is because she is unhappy. Whether she misses her mother or her brothers..."

Karys didn't respond to this. She simply looked at her father, who seemed to be lost in thought. He turned to her, "I do know that she is unhappy that she is denied sword lessons like her brothers. She says that she has spoken to you about that. What do you think?"

Karys looked at the floor and shrugged her shoulder in a non-committal gesture. Rickard chuckled softly "Well far be it from me to ask you to betray a confidence between you and your sister. I know that secrets between sisters are a sacred thing."

Karys looked up at him and saw a twinkle in his eye. "But seriously Karys," he continued, his face becoming sombre, "I do worry about my girls. Loosing your mother so quickly, I fear for the day when I am not around to take care for you. And I know how hard this world is on women, especially if you should ever leave The North where they do not... respect women the way I would wish it..." He looked at her seriously, "because the day may come when you are sent where I, your brothers, and my bannermen cannot reach you..."

Karys could feel the heat rising in her face and the nausea returning to her stomach. A pause seemed to stretch between here and her father, which seemed to ring with all the possibilities that her future held. "And it is because of that," her father resumed, "and because I don't think I shall ever have another moment's peace from your sister if I refuse, that I have decided to concede defeat to her wishes. As long as all her other studies continue as planned she will be allowed to take up sword practice with the master-at-arms. I think you should train with him as well. Just in case..." he trailed off. Karys looked up at him, knowing what that "just in case" could mean. Rickard raised a hand and stroked her pale hair and said "from what your tutor says, you are far ahead of Lyanna in your studies, and I must say that my accounts have never been in better order since you started helping maester Luwin. So how would you like to be rewarded, Karys? What do you want?"

Karys stared up at her father. He looked so tired and so sad, yet he was smiling at her, a hint of pride in his eyes. She wondered if she could ever live up to that pride. Then the voice she had heard whilst praying whispered in her mind... words that were ancient and powerful. Karys wanted to know what they said, she wanted to learn... "Could I...could I have a maester teach me the First Tongue?" She asked tentatively. Rickard stared back at her, a look of surprise on his face. Then Karys thought she might as well ask now whilst her father was feeling generous... "And High Valyrian. There are so many old books I would like to read. It would... It would help..."

She looked at his face, trying to see which way the wind was blowing... He laughed and held her face in his hands "Hah, if only the Citadel took in women, we'd make a little maester out of you for sure." he kissed her forehead. "Of course you can learn High Valyrian, and First Tongue - well that's a taller order, but I'm sure there's a maester out there who knows. Or perhaps a bannerman. A few men in The North still speak it...I'll do what I can."

Karys' heart leapt and she kissed her father's cheek in thanks. The thought of all those ancient Valyrian books waiting for her to read made her heart sing. And learning first tongue meant that maybe she could learn to understand... her thoughts trailed off as she looked over her father's shoulder to the face in the weirwood tree...

Rickard got to his feet and said, "we should get your hands cleaned up. No doubt you are covered in bruises too. I think you should go take a bath..." but Karys was frowning. A thought had just crossed her mind. She was happy about the new lessons in languages, but as for training in swordplay... She preferred being away from the noise and the centre of attention. She wanted to observe from afar, not be in the centre of the Battlefield. "Father," she said, "I don't think I'm going to do well with a sword... I'm not like Lyanna. I'm not bold and strong. I..." She looked up at her father and hoped he understood. He paused for a moment then looking around at the tree he said "Very well. Maybe you are right... besides, " he reached down and picked up the branch that had fallen from the tree, "it would be a sin to waste such a gift from the gods." He flexed the wood between his hands and looked at Karys. "But you have keen eyes and can move quietly." he smiled "How about a nice, weirwood bow..."


	4. Chapter 4: Daggers

The winter had vanished quickly. Already the fresh green shoots had pushed through the earth and blossoms had broken out across The North. Whilst many would assume that the northerners would be grateful for so short a winter, the northerners themselves didn't trust the quick change in seasons. From Bear Island to the Bay of Seals, the northerners muttered that so short a Winter would lead to a short Summer, a scant harvest, and a long cruel winter thereafter.

Karys knelt by a flowering shrub and, using a silver dagger she pulled from her belt, deftly removed several flower head and topmost leaves from the fresh green stalks. She examined the specimens for signs of corruption before binding the bunch with a piece of twine and placing it in one of the saddlebags on her horse. Then she took the reigns in her hand, and lead the horse further into the wood in search of more plants. Today she had already collected tansy, gillyflower, hyssop and feverfew. They were bound in twine and placed in the pockets of a leather workbelt that hung around her hips. These would all make valuable additions to her store of medicinal herbs, as stocks had grown low over the winter.

Although it was normally the maester who was in charge of taking care of the sick and injured in the castle, Karys had shown a natural aptitude for the work. She enjoyed doing it, partly because it allowed her hours of peaceful solitude whilst studying, but also because it meant that she could spend many hours outside collecting the herbs and plants that were used to treat everything from upset stomachs to injuries from the practice yard. With the help of the maester she was learning the names and functions of the plants of the North, when they were ready to be picked, how to dry them, how to mix them together with other substances to create medicine. She was also learning how the art of medicine was a subtle danced that often turned close to the edge of ore sinister arts. Though maester Luwin had refused to answer her questions on the matter, hours spent alone in the library with a free reign meant that she was not so ignorant as he would have perhaps hoped. In one of the pockets on her workbelt lay a few smaller bunches that had been taken from plants much deeper in the forest, growing next to a crystalline pool and at the entrance to dark cave. Wolfsbane, Septa's Hood, and Nightshade sprigs were bound and wrapped in cloth to prevent anyone discovering loose leaves. This also prevented any of the leaves mixing with the medicinal herbs - mixing the sinister and the benevolent would be a fatal mistake. But most of all, she didn't want her father to know about her growing interest in the topic.

He may have been more willing than many of the southron lords to put a sword or bow and arrow in his daughters' hands, because Northerners knew that when the winter's snows lie deep everyone had to work together to survive. It didn't matter if you were a man or a woman, it was the sword in your hand that mattered, not the one between your legs. However, poison was not an honourable weapon. It was a weapon that belonged to cravens, women and Dornishmen. It required subtlety, forethought, and the ability to act in cold blood. It was wielded by those in whom you trusted, those who you brought into your household perhaps into your bed. It required you to look an enemy in the eye and present the face of a loyal subject or loving family member. It tainted your life-sustaining food and your thirst quenching water. It didn't require bodily strength, and even the largest bear of a man could succumb to but a few drops of the right substance. Karys knew that such a weapon would be frowned upon by her honourable father, but she couldn't help but be fascinated by how such beautiful and serene plants could hide death behind their innocent looking flowers. Let her father and brothers keep their broadswords and shields. As far as she was concerned she was more at risk of dying in her bed by child or by husband than on a battle field. Her pains were more likely to be healed with a a tainted cup than a blade. And as for the act itself? She could act in cold blood. She was a daughter of Winterfell. There was ice in her veins.

Karys stood up and made her way towards her horse. Reaching up, she swept the light dusting of snow from the saddle, and mounted the horse. Karys rode fully astride the horse, just as a man would. Just the other day, a Southron riding master had been trying to show her and Lyanna how to ride side-saddle like a true lady. Both had been covered in bruises by the end of the session, and the riding master had been in tears. Karys had managed to stay on for one turn around the paddock, but she saw little point in the practice. She didn't ride to show herself off. Gods help he lady who tried to ride side-saddle across the rough northern landscape. Rocky outcrops, concealed marshes, and snow-drifts would have her thrown from her horse in moments. Karys urged the horse on faster, harder. All the stark children were strong riders, Brandon and Lyanna had been called half centaur several times. It was a necessity in the North, which was larger than all the other kingdoms in Westeros, but it was also a joy. The cold fresh air burned Karys' cheeks and caught in her chest, and she loved every minute of it. Even across the wet and softening Spring earth, she would make it to Winterfell before the sun set.

The ride went by quickly and she was within sight of the winter town. She skirted the edge of the Wolfswood and pulled her horse back, easing the pace as she rode around a rocky outcrop. As she navigated the rough ground, she heard the sounds of shouts and cries from behind a large rock, and what sounded like a high pitched, pathetic, whining. With a quick tug at the reins, she turned her horse around to investigate. As she circled the stone she came across two shepherd boys, who appeared to be hitting the ground with sticks, shrieking and cursing.

One of the boys was older, tall and wiry, with sharp cheekbones. The other was younger, but stout and strong. When she looked closer, she saw it was not the ground that the boys were hitting, but a small writhing creature, covered in white fur. A tiny wolf pup that cried with each lash. a few steps away, a grey pup lay motionless and bloody, it's tiny life beaten out of swept through Karys. The wolf was the sigil of her house, and the boys' laughter aroused something cold and vicious inside her heart.

"Stop," she called from atop her horse, "stop right this instant."

The boys looked around at her, curious and cruel leers on their faces. She felt a sense of unease run down her spine at the look in their eyes. The taller boy shouted "Why don't you fuck off," before turning back towards the pup.

"I said stop right now," she shouted as she swung herself from the saddle before taking two steps towards the boys.

This time it was the stout boy who turned and spoke to her. "And if we don't? What's a tiny girl like you going to do if we don't stop? I reckons a slip of a thing like you would break as easily as these pups did. Ten times as easy as their mother - she was the last bitch who got into our business. We sorted her out, just like we'll sort you out princess" he said, eyes roving over Karys' fine cloak and dress that singled her out as well-born.

She remained rooted to the spot, glaring at the stout boy, trying to direct all her ice cold rage at him through her stare. The Boy started to move towards her in a predatory way and he said, "wolves is only good for beating, but maybe we could find another use for soft, little lady like you..."

He was so close that Karys could feel his hot breath on her cold cheeks. He reached out and ran a rough and clumsy hand over the front of her robes, groping for breasts that Karys had not yet developed. A pulse throbbed in her neck, begging for her to run and something inside her fought a battle between panic and rage. But there was something else inside her too. Something ice cold seemed to course through her blood, telling her what to do. Softly and swiftly, she removed her silver dagger from her belt. Quick as a flash she brought it up and pressed it against the side of the boy's neck, the blade biting at the skin.

"You're right," she hissed, " I am a proper little lady. I am Karys Stark of Winterfell; youngest daughter of Rickard Stark, Warden of the North and your liege lord. I wonder what he and my brothers will do to you when they find out what you have said to me?"

Karys watched with a sense of triumph as the stout boy's eyes flashed from the blade to the other boy - half pleading have panicking. "But maybe I won't give you over to their mercy," Karys continued keeping her voice soft and sweet, "I've been studying with the maester and I know where all your blood runs through you. I could cut you hard and deep and let you go quickly or," and she dug the blade in a little deeper, "I could make it long and shallow, and let you live long enough to know you are dying... Long eough to see the fear in your eyes..."

The stout boy stepped back quickly, his eyes darting around for an escape, a thin trickle of red making its way down his neck. Karys, with blade still in front of her, moved towards the ball of fur and picked it up without turning her back on the boys. Then she returned to her horse, and mounted the saddle with the pup tucked under her arm. Taking the reins in her remaining hand, she kicked her horse into a canter and rode straight for Winterfell.

As she entered the gate of the imposing keep, she slowed her pace before dismounting in the courtyard and handing her steed to one of the stable boys. She hurried through the main doors, across the entrance hall and towards the main stairs. She climbed the stairs breathlessly until she reached a small room at the top of one of the tallest towers.

Inside the room, which was small but comfortable, a fire had already been lit by one of the serving boys. This was Karys' sanctum. Although she had a good-sized bedroom in another part of the castle next to her sister's, this room was where she spent most of her time. Opposite the door was a small work bench, covered in jars of dried plants and pieces of parchment. From the ceiling hung crystals, minerals and bunches of dried flowers. Two large windows gave the room a clear view of the land beyond Winter's Town. On the other side of the room was a small set of shelves filled with books borrowed from Winterfell's main library. Finally at the end of the room two comfortable armchairs were placed next to the fireplace, covered in warm blankets and wolf skins. Grabbing one of these blankets, Karys knelt in front of the fire and created a small nest into which she placed the still trembling, but now silent, pup.

'Shh,' she said 'It's alright now."

Two dark eyes looked up at her. "It's just you and me now. I'm going to look after you."


	5. Chapter 5: Books

*BANG* Karys' bedroom door flew open with an almighty force.

"LOOK AT MY BOOTS!" Lyanna stormed into the room in a fury. In front of her she brandished what appeared to be chewed leather. "If you can't control that animal, I'm going to have father put it down. This is the second pair of good boots that I've had in the last year. They don't grow on trees you know!"

Karys kept her face impassive. It was not yet breakfast and Lyanna had caught her in the middle of getting herself ready for the day. Reaching for her hairbrush and letting her white-blonde hair fall from its night-time plait she said quietly, "yes it is the second pair of boots this year, because you left the first pair in the stables overnight when you changed for riding, and they got wet and perished. Maybe if you had cleared this pair away properly, Frost wouldn't have been able to find them and chew on them."

Under her bed, Karys spied a small white snout with a cold, wet black nose. Frost knew she was in trouble. Lyanna was beside herself, "They were put away, they were put away in MY ROOM. Your savage little pet shouldn't be in my room - it should be in the bloody WOODS!" Turning on her heel, Lyanna swept from the room muttering a string of very unladylike curses behind her.

Karys had turned back to her dressing table and was about to start putting up her hair, when she heard a quiet voice from the door way. "I do enjoy the peace of the early morning."

Karys looked over shoulder, "good morning Ben. Did the sound of Lyanna blaming me for all the world's ills wake you up?"

"No. It was the sound of her cursing one of the serving girls for moving her High Valyrian grammar book. I almost went back to sleep, but then she found the boots..."

Karys rolled her eyes. Benjen took a step through the door and sat on the end of her bed. Frost shuffled out from underneath, and licked his hand. Smiling, Benjen said "Look, just go apologise to Lyanna."

Karys shot him a look that conveyed how very little the idea appealed to her. "Don't blame me," Benjen said, reaching behind Frost's ear to give her a scratch, "Frost has chewed through her boots. Frost is in the wrong here, and that means that you are in the wrong. Better to play the penitent now, rather than have Lyanna biting everyone's head off for the next month. The more she howls, the more father will hear of it, then we're all in for another one of his 'If you're not growing out of clothes you're treating them poorly - How can I constantly be replacing your entire wardrobe? Do you think I'm rich as a Lannister?' speeches. We've already been told one-hundred times this year. For the sake of peace, just apologise."

Karys sighed and nodded her head. Benjen got up and moved towards the door,before turning back and saying "Lyanna will forget it all soon enough. She's just very tense about organising Father's name day. All the duties of lady of the house fall on her now because she's the eldest girl. She's probably just jealous of the fact that you don't have to do any of that." And with that he left her room and headed for the great hall for breakfast.

Karys smiled to herself. Benjen, despite how young he was, was probably right. She thought how funny it was that Benjen, the youngest, was so perceptive. He was always watching the other members of the house. He saw everything, much more than they gave him credit for. Nothing got past him.

After breakfast Karys went to her lessons. After she apologised to Lyanna for the boots, which was met with a theatrical sigh and begrudging acceptance, they began their class in High Valyrian. Karys buried herself in a translation of some poetry, and Maester Luwin complimented her on her turn of phrase in prose composition. Benjen stared out the window with his book of 'History of the Valyrian Freehold' open on the desk. Meanwhile Lyanna stared with a furrowed brow at a table of Valyrian verb conjugations. Neither of her siblings were particularly fond of these lessons. Benjen would rather be outside tracking animals, and learning to hunt, and Lyanna would rather be practicing with a sword. Karys on the other hand took to High Valyrian like a duck to water. Already well ahead of her siblings, she had even begun learning some of the Valyrian dialects of the Free Cities. She liked to imagine that one day she would travel across the Narrow Sea to see these cities or herself. The thought of such an adventure thrilled her, even though in reality she knew it was unlikely that she would ever go.

Benjen's book slid from the desk and fell with a loud *thud* on the floor, jerking him out of his daydreams. Maester Luwin lost his temper with Benjen after that, and his mood was not improved when he saw how Lyanna had drawn images of duelling knights all over her book instead of actually learning her verbs. The three Stark children ran from the room as quickly as possible, leaving the maester's grumbles of "I'm amazed you can even speak the common tongue without sounding like a peasant..." far behind.

This was an unfair accusation, Karys thought. Her siblings were not stupid, it was just that their interests lay elsewhere. Neither of them had much interest in poetry or history. They weren't even bad at languages. High Valyrian poetry might be of no interest, but their lessons in First Tongue were another matter. Unable to find a maester who could speak the First Tongue well enough, or who was willing enough to come this far north, their father had entrusted their First Tongue lessons to one of the small folk from Winter's Town who knew the language. Going by the name of Hob, he was a man of all trades - he hunted and fished in the Wolfswood, then set up his stall at the market to sell his wares. He taught them the names of the animals and birds of The North in first tongue, as well as the way to call a dog. The First Men did not write tomes of formal poetry or history, so instead Hob taught them the folk songs, bawdy tales and how to haggle over the price of fish. Because it was so practical and so useful in the North, Benjen and Lyanna took to First Tongue much faster than Valyrian. Indeed, they were already almost as fluent as anyone in The North in the slowly dying language. Sometimes the Stark children would even talk to each other in First tongue outside of classes, enjoying the language that was unique to The North out of all seven kingdoms. It was their secret language, but it was also their birthright. They would sing, swear and tell each other secrets in that language. Some thought that it sounded coarse and inelegant when compared to the sweeping cadences and lyricism of High Valyrian, it was even considered uglier than the common tongue, but Karys loved it. It made her feel closer to her siblings. It made her feel closer to the Old Gods. It made her feel closer to The North.

The curses in First Tongue were being put to good use by the Stark children recently, and in particular, by Lyanna. Every evening she cursed the day she thought putting on a celebration for her father's name day. The curses rang through the halls every time a pot of hot liquid was spilled, or every time someone ran through the freshly mopped floor of the great dining hall. But despite Lyanna's increasingly frayed temper, the celebration was starting to take shape. The whole of Winterfell resounded with movement. Floors were swept,hangings taken down and beaten, and the kitchens were working as hard as possible to prepare as much food in advance as possible. Every day more ravens arrived as the houses of the North responded to their invitations. Lord Rickard had protested at both the effort and the expense of the celebrations, but Lyanna had insisted so hard and threatened to throw so large a tantrum that he had conceded. Karys noticed that he seemed especially disposed to cave to her demands recently. She was granted extra hours in the practice yard with her sword, and she wasn't chided for the state of her appearance when she returned from a ride. Her room was in a state of chaos, and all across the castle boots, books, and unfinished sewing projects were left scattered, and it was up to Karys (an on occasion Benjen) to clear up.

Her Father's weak discipline confused Karys. Moreover, Lord Rickard's indulgent attitude towards Lyanna began to infuriate Karys. She made no attempt to hide her displeasure. Although she didn't throw the ferocious tantrums that were Lyanna's speciality, whenever her father instructed her to clean up after Lyanna or complete some unfinished task, she shot him one of her infamously chilling stares.

Such an occasion arose one day as she was sat in her father's study counting the stores of grain and ale, and contemplating how long it would be before they should order more wine from the Arbor and Dorne. Her father sat reading the stack of messages that had been brought by that morning's ravens, amongst them more replies to the celebration invites. Suddenly, after many minutes of silence, he suddenly spoke.

"Do you think we have anything in the decorations bearing the sigil of House Baratheon?"

Karys blinked in confusion. As far as she was aware, only Northmen had been invited to the celebrations. Furthermore, The North and The Stormlands had very little to do with each other. The current lord of Storm's end was a boy of her brother Ned's age, who had assumed the role of Lord of Storm's End after his parents were involved in a tragic accident. He was too young to be a personal friend of her Father's...

"If we don't have anything," Lord Rickard continued, "can you see that the seamstresses have some ready for this gods damned celebration you sister is insisting upon?"

At this, Karys shot her Father the icy stare. "It's Lyanna's party, Lyanna should inform the seamstresses."

Rickard met his daughter's eyes only briefly before looking away. "I'm asking you to do this Karys. Lyanna need not concern herself with this matter. It would only add to her ever-growing list of chores..."

Karys said nothing for a long time, but did not stop staring at her father. After several minutes of silence she said "Why House Baratheon?"

"The current lord of Storm's End is being squired in The Vale with your brother Ned. It seems they have become firm friends. So I told Ned we would be honoured to have a member of one of the other great houses present at my name day."

Karys said nothing, but sensing that there was something her father wasn't telling her , she continued to stare coldly at him. This time Lord Rickard made no attempt at eye contact with her.

"That will be all, Karys. You may go."

Without saying a word, and making no attempt to thaw the chilly atmosphere of the room, Karys got up and left her father's study. Perturbed by the sudden warmth towards the Stormlands and her father's obvious refusal to divulge the whole truth, she swept down the stairs, through the hall and out the main doors. As she crossed the yard, she heard the patter of paws and a cold wet nose nudging at her hand. Without slowing her pace, she gripped the scruff of Frost's neck. Only a few months old, and the direwolf pup was already nearly waist height on Karys. She moved her hand to scratch behind the direwolf's ears, a silent thank-you to Frost for the company. How Frost knew she was anxious, was beyond Karys, but she was grateful nonetheless.

The silent pair made their way through the godswood until they stood beneath the great weirwood tree. Karys sat on a stone next to the pool of crystalline water, while Frost lay at her feet. Karys stared at the wise and mournful face carved into the wood, and prayed for some form of clarity. Seconds, minutes, and eventually an hour passed. The leaves of the great tree were still in the cold air, and no answer came to Karys. Sighing Karys closed her eyes, before rising and returning to the castle.

Much later Karys lay in bed hovering in that twilight space between waking and sleeping with her eyes closed and breathing heavy. Unbidden, an image rose before her closed lids. Stepping out from a dense forest, a tall and powerful stag made its way towards a rushing river. As the stag bent its head to drink from the water, blood dripped from its antlers and solidified like rubies in the water. Somewhere deep in the woods, a mournful howl rose into the night sky.

Down in the godswood beneath Winterfell, the weirwood leaves rustled gently.


	6. Chapter 6: Feasting

Karys had been in her room, grinding up medicinal herbs in her pestle and mortar when she heard the bells sounding. It wasn't time for classes, there were no wars raging and nobody was sick enough to die, so it could only mean one thing - a Stark was returning to Wintefell.

Down in the practice yard below there was a loud shout of joy and the clatter of metal on stone as Lyanna threw down her sword. There was also the thud and swearing that could only come from Lyanna's handmaiden and sparring partner Dalla Mormont overbalancing and falling over. Karys dropped her healing materials and hurried for the door and down the steps.

Both of her brothers had been a long time at their fostering, and she had missed them terribly. As she ran out into the hall she saw Lyanna's hair whipping about as she threw herself into the arms of one of their brothers, the long dark strands concealing his face. However, Karys new by the way that the figure stood stalwart and held his sister close rather than flung her around in his arms that it was Ned. As Lyanna moved away, clapping her hands in excitement, Ned's face appeared from behind her. He was much changed since the last time Karys had Seen him. He was taller, more muscled, and with the beginnings of a beard. His hair was longer and tied back. But his grey eyes and his smile were the same. As he opened his arms wide to embrace her, she ran towards him and buried her face in his chest. He wrapped her tight in his arms and said in his quiet, soft voice,

"If I knew everyone would be this happy to see me, I would have come back earlier."

Karys said nothing in return. She simply squeezed him close and felt an immense sense of happiness that the brother she was closest to had returned. It was only as she opened her eyes that she became aware of another figure standing close to Ned. It was a young man, who must have been the same age as ned, but was closer in stature to Brandon. He was tall and broad, with thick arms and wiry, obsidian-black hair. She noticed he was clean shaved and had a strong jaw and broad smile. He was leaning against the wall, surveying the hall with apparent enthusiasm, taking in the furs, the large fireplaces and, Karys noted, a few of the serving girls and her sister Lyanna.

"Lyanna, Karys; please allow me to present my friend and fellow fosterling in the Vale, Robert Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Robert, These are my sisters Lyanna," Ned gestured towards the elder sister who curtsied and flashed a wide grin, "and Karys." When Ned gestured to her, Karys curtsied low, and bowed her head to disguise the fact she was not smiling. The Lord of Storms end seemed cheerful enough, but she was not entirely sure of his presence in her home.

Robert Baratheon sprang from his position against the wall and made deep bows to both the girls, and kissing their hands exclaimed, "I've heard so much about both of you. The way Ned talks about you, you would think you are the most beautiful, intelligent and most fearsome young women in all seven kingdoms. Of course now I am seeing you for myself, I can believe the part about the beauty. I hope over the course of my visit, you shall prove that his other claims are true as well."

He stood back with his hands on his hips, and with a twinkle in his eye said with a voice full of curiosity, "Your brother has told be that it is not uncommon in the North for women to join in the hunting parties. Will you be accompanying us today..."

Karys noted that Robert seemed mostly to be addressing Lyanna when he spoke, though he threw a few smiles and nods in her own direction. It was true that some women accompanied hunting parties. Much like warcraft and weapons, the North was a little more liberal in these matters than the other kingdoms. However giving Lyanna another chance don breeches and rough shirts would not only put a stop in their father's plans to turn them into proper ladies, but may also put him into an early grave.

Ned had enough decency to look faintly embarrassed and exasperated as he offered Robert a bowl of bread and salt in the scared guest-rite that the Northerners had practised since the time of the First Men. "I'm sure Lyanna is too busy with the plans for the upcoming festivities. And besides," Ned shot a meaningful stare at Lyanna who had hope dancing in her eyes, "by Northern standards they are both a little young to join a hunting party."

"Ah," puffed Robert, seizing a large chunk of bread and thrusting it messily into the salt which scattered all over the floor, "Shame, shame. Never mind though, eh? I'm sure to see some of your famed ferocity during my stay." At this he pointed to the sword that lay discarded my the entrance. Lyanna had obviously discarded it carelessly in her haste to welcome Ned home.

"But enough pleasantries," Robert said, determinedly clapping Ned on the shoulder "Are we or are we not going out to hunt? You promised me bears. I've never killed a bear, especially a northern snow bear..."

As the two young men made for the door, Karys could hear Ned muttering something about "not the season" and "not this far south", but nothing would seem to dissuade Robert from his hunting.

"Well he seems a lively sort." Lyanna said, a half smile on her lips. "And he seems to bring Ned a bit out of his shell. I hope the storm lord is a bad influence on him, it should make the party more interesting. We'll have some in house entertainment if the enough ale is drunk. I've seen Brandon legless, but never Ned..."

Karys pursed her lips in thought before replying, "Yes, but I imagine it would only be amusing for a short time before becoming very tiring. Besides, have you seen the size of him? Between him and Brandon they might drain the ale stocks dry."

Lyanna threw her head back and laughed before wrapping one arm around her sister's shoulders, "You are ever the optimist, Karys. Try to have a little fun. Think of it this way, if Ned and Brandon get drunk enough, and act the fool, we'll have something to embarrass them about for years. What's the fun n having older brothers when you can't drag them over hot coals once in a while?"

"You make a fair point, Lya," replied Karys with a smile. "No doubt we will once again be expected to play the lady-like daughters Father would wish us to be."

"Yes said Lyanna, feigning a look of superiority as she threw her dark hair over her shoulder. " We shall be as elegant and refined as any nobleman's daughters from the Southron kingdoms. We will say our pleases and thank-yous, we'll tell all the men how strong and handsome they look,and we will perfect of our curtsies..." with this this Lyanna made a great show of sinking to the floor with a great flourish of her arms.

Karys imitated her sister's theatrical curtsey and said "But sister, what if the storm lords ask our opinion on something?"

Lyanna looked at her with a wolfish grin, "We could never fight with those lords, as good Southron ladies never have an opinion on anything. All we are fit to talk about is embroidery."

"But sister," Karys continued as she barely suppressed her laughter, "what if the Stormlanders try to grab us at the feast? How shall we defend ourselves if proper ladies do not carry weapons?"

Lyanna paused and then said " Sister, all Southron ladies must be discrete and scandalised about such things. We should call our brothers to coe and defend our honour, for we can not be expected to do so ourselves. But this is the North, and any Southron lord who comes here and thinks he can pat a wolf is going to get BITTEN!" At that, she launched herself at hr sister making mock growling noises, and both sisters fell to the ground in fits of giggles.

Later that evening, the feast was well underway and the halls of Winterfell rang out with the sounds of singing, laughter, and plates being scraped of delicious food. Karys had to admit that Lyanna had done a wonderful job planning this feast. Even now she could see her sister making her way around the tables, summoning more food and drink for the guests. First she was laughing with Jeor Mormont and his sword wielding sisters over an anecdote, then she was complimenting Lady Hornwood's dress; next she was filling Lord Umber's tankard as he loudly declared her to be a credit to her father, and began toasting House Stark and the North in general. Lyanna's natural vivaciousness made her the perfect hostess.

When their brother Brandon, spurred on by a few glasses of ale no doubt, called for the a space to be cleared for dancing and for the musicians to strike up a jig, Lyanna was the first to join him in a wild dance. However, Karys was not the only one watching her sister. Several of the younger men were watching her. most noticeably, Karys thought, was Robert Baratheon. He was ensconced in a corner, not with Ned, but with their father. Karys felt the same uneasiness she had done in her father's solar. And although she didn't want to admit it, she thought she knew what they were discussing.

She was about to walk over to try and closer to the two men and overhear their conversation, but as she turned to cross the room, she accidentally bumped into a figure standing close to her. Karys had deliberately stood far away from the action of the main hall, in a corner. She thought she had remained unnoticed by most of the guests. But not this young mad. He was small and slight, though judging by the downy beard on his chin he was of an age with Ned. He had muddy brown hair, tanned skin, and shockingly green eyes.

"Forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to startle you."

"Not at all," Karys replied. " It was I who crashed into you. Forgive me, but I do not think we have been introduced."

"I am Howland Reed of Greywater Watch," the young man replied. "Your sister and my father were talking of our lands and plants around the neck, and when he told her of the ways in which we defend the North from invaders she seemed to think you would be interested. She said our use of poisoned blow-darts would be of specific interest to you."

Karys smiled She had always assumed that Lyanna paid little attention to her hobbies. The fact that Lyanna knew of Karys' fascination with the properties of Northern plants, esecially poisons, and did not judge her gave Karys a rush of affection for her sister. Karys spent a long while talking to Howland reed about the many fascinating plants that could be found around The towards the end of their conversation, she found herself distracted. She notice that Robert Baratheon had stopped talking to her father and was now imbibing large quantities of ale. For a while he gazed at Lyanna, who was still dancing wildly with Brandon, but soon she saw his eyes wander to the serving girls. Before long he was making swipes at their skirts, and guffawing loudly.

Karys fumed. How dare he behave so vulgarly under their roof, where he had been taken in as a guest. She saw Ned Drinking at the High Table where the Starks had been seated, and tried to make her way there in order to tell her brother to control his friend. But as she made an attempt to cross the floor she found herself pulled int the throng of people. She was thrust around on the dance-floor, the smell of beer drenched breath and the heat of pressed bodies overwhelming her. After a while, she couldn't take it any longer and made her way towards the great doors that lead out to the courtyard. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ned look at her and get to his feet, but she motioned to him to sit down and pushed her way towards the exit.

The cold air hit her like a slap, and she immediately came to. Taking deep breaths she walked briskly around the courtyard to clear her head. As she turned to make her way back, she passed the door leading to the storerooms and kitchens, and the sound of heavy panting and moaning reached her ears. As she came closer she stopped and gasped, clamping her hand over her mouth. In front of her she saw the broad shape of Robert Baratheon, thrusting hard and fast. One of the serving girls was pressed against the wall, moaning and breathing hard, her legs wrapped around his great waist. Karys remained there, frozen with one hand clasped over her mouth when suddenly she felt a hand close on her shoulder,

"Karys... what in seven hells are you doing out here in the cold..." Ned stopped dead when he saw what Karys had been staring at.

"Robert. ROBERT! By the gods can you not contain yourself? Not even for one night?"

Robert turned around, his face red and sweaty from the effort. He shot Ned a grin, but it faltered when he saw Karys, pale faced and motionless, under her brothers grip.

"Ah Ned... i thought we would be... out of... well... I meant no offence to you or your sister. You know I would never intentionally..."

He reached down to do up hi trousers as the serving girl, red faced with shame, dropped to the floor and fled towards the kitchens.

"Look," Baratheon continued with a hint of amusement, " I never meant for you or your sister to discover us this way. I'm sorry Ned. I truly am. But I couldn't come to the North and not try to make the eight..."

He held out his hands in a fashion that seemed to profess a sort of innocence. Ned swayed. Karys could tel he had been drinking.

"I think you should return to the feast," Ned finally said to Robert, "Beofre there is any more trouble."

Robert stammered something unintelligible before nodding, and returning to the hall through the great doors. Ned the turned to Karys and opened his mouth to say something.

"I don't want to hear it Ned." Karys shot at him icily. "How dare he? How dare he behave in that way under our roof. How dare he insult us that way?"

Ned blinked before saying "Well, It was a bit tactless Karys, but it's hardly a great crime to ..."

"Do you take me for a total fool Ned? Do you think I am so incapable of deciphering yours and Father's intentions? I know why he's here. I know what he and father have been arranging. To spend all night discussing their plans and then to behave like this is despicable."

Ned swayed slightly more. The ale was obviously slowing his thought processing. "What plans? I have no plans? Father simply asked if I would bring Robert back for a visit as he had heard so much about him..."

"Then you are are either a fool or drunker than I thought Ned," Karys shot back at her brother. "Isn't it obvious. This is what Father wanted. Here is the head of a great house, the lord paramount of the Stormlands, already friends with a member of the family and as yet unattached. He intends to marry Lyanna off to your friend Baratheon and he will finally have made a prosperous match to one of the Southron kingdoms."

Ned's brow furrowed and he stared at Karys. "No. No. Father would have told me. He would have told Lyanna first. There's no way they would have done this without informing..."

"Oh wake up Ned. They would and they have done. That is why Robert is here. Not just as your friend, but to make a match between our houses." Karys bit her lip. "Lyanna is going to throw a fit when she finds out."

Ned looked up at the skies and seemed lost in thought before he replied "I love Lyanna, and I love Robert. But together? I do not entirely think... I can imagine..." He shook his head. "No. I am not convinced..."

Karys looked at her older brother and said softly, "I don't think us being convinced will change the situation anyway..."

Three days later, when the hall was being cleared and the guests had left, the screaming fit that Lyanna threw could be heard echoing around the halls of Winterfell. In the evening, Karys took a mug of warm cider to her father in his solar and she found him with his head in her hands.

"I am only trying to look out for you girls. For our whole family" he sighed as she set the tankard down on the table. Karys made no reply to this.

"Oh Karys, do you hate me too? Must I live with the resentment of both my daughters."

Karys took a steadying breath before answering. "You should have known Lyanna better. You may have tried to train us to be Southron ladies, but we are still Northerners at heart. We do not go without a fight, and we do not take deception lightly."

Lord Rickard lifted his head from his hands and looked at Karys. "So what do you suggest? Can you honestly tell me it is a bad match?"

"In prosperity and nobility, it is a fair match. But in temperament..." Karys broke off thinking of what she had seen the night of the feast. "Theirs will not be a peaceful union. I don't think any Southron lord could ever hope to tame Lyanna's wolf blood."

"Is that so?" Her father said sadly. "and what of when it is your turn? Will you fight me all the way as your sister has done?"

Karys thought about this before replying "I have often thought myself more suited to the life of a maester than of a wife to a southron lord. But as the citadel will not accept women, such a life is barred for me. In some ways it is a shame that the North does not follow the Seven, as the I would at least have the option of being a septa. Yet those gods are foreign to me and no such life exists for those who follow the old gods. So perhaps I will have to marry one day. But I would rather it was a northerner, who understood our ways, than a southerner who would want me to be what I was not."

"What if the match was with a good house?"

"Is there anywhere in the south that wouldn't consider her or myself a wild, sword wielding barbarian? Don't all Southerners expect their wives to be pliable and obedient? You can provide us with all the education int he world, but our Northern nature will out in the end." Karys sighed deeply, "but if you commanded me to go, I would do it out of loyalty to our family. As I believe Lyanna will do."

Her father smiled at her, but Karys continued "I would only ask that you not marry me off before I finish learning all I can in my...chosen discipline."

"And what would that entail?" her father asked.

Karys inhaled deeply and asked for the thing she had wanted for three days now. "I want you to send me away. I want to know about all the herbs and medicines in our lands. And as the citadel wont take me I want to go to where they will accept me. I want you send me to the Neck..."


	7. Chapter 7: Marshes

Summer stretched out across The North. Even though the midday sun shone brightly over the marshes, in the undergrowth of The Neck, it might have been the first pale rays of morning. The foliage was so thick, that the marshes remained in semi darkness throughout the day. The only indication that that it was noon was the heat. Although it still often snowed in the far North during the summer, in the swamps of the Neck, the air grew thick and heavy. The mud and stagnant water thickened like soup, and a permanent haze of humidity and insects turned the air into a pungent soup.

Karys slowly dragged her boot out of a thick, treacly patch of mud and leaned to capture the delicate blue flowers that were hanging over an eddying stream. Using her silver wolfshead dagger to remove the bunch of flowers, berries and topmost leaves from a few stems, she took the stems in her gloved hand and opened the leather pouch at her waist. Inside her glove, her palm was slick with sweat, just like her brow. When she had secured the delicate flowers, she raised her hand to push back her hair. The pale blonde strands were plastered to her forehead with sweat and mud, and the rough braid she had pulled her hair into before leaving was rapidly coming undone.

With a great effort Karys removed her boot from where it had begun to sink into the earth with a great sucking sound. Slowly and with great trepidation she made her way back towards firmer ground. Every now and then she stopped and listened. Somewhere a chorus of frogs were croaking a dirge like melody, and to her left she could hear the babble of running water, though she could not see it through the dense vegetation and swirling vapours. Somewhere behind her she thought she heard the menacing hiss of a lizard-lion. With great haste, she made for one of the few paths that ran through The Neck.

She wore a loose shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her arms were covered in scratches and thin rivulets of blood ran backwards towards her elbows. She cursed silently, as she thought some of them must have come from poisoned thorns. She would have to treat them when she returned to Greywater Watch. Her dark green breeches clung to her legs and made it difficult to walk. Trousers were far more practical than skirts in the marshy terrain of The Neck, and Karys embraced the tradition of both sexes wearing breeches. It was one of the many things she had learned from the Crannogmen during her stay. She had spent her time there learning about the many plants of The Neck, and their properties. Her days were spent between the library and the marshes. In the morning she would learn how to craft blow darts, and wield a frog spear. In the afternoon she would dive into stagnant bogs, climb trees, and wade out amongst the frogs for more plants to examine, because there was a greater diversity of plants here than anywhere else in the North.

The Crannogmen were the first obstacle that any Southerner encountered, should they be foolish enough to invade The North, And for many southerners, they were the last obstacle too. They were masters of poison, guerrilla tactics, and of their difficult terrain. Their tactics and methods were unlike any else in the North, and were notoriously difficult to conquer. Since King Rickard Stark slew the last Marsh king and wedded his daughter, the Crannogmen had sworn oaths of fealty to House Stark, and had since proved fearlessly loyal.

Karys had been welcomed with great warmth to Greywater Watch. She had been firmly embraced by Lord and Lady Reed, and treated like their own daughter. Whilst many thought the Crannogmen to be secretive, they had been nothing but open with Karys, sharing their home, their posessons, and their knowledge with her. She had learnt more about the arts of medicine and poisons in her time here than in her previous years with the maester of Winterfell. The Crannogmen knew of more poisons than Maester Lewin could have dreamed of in his worst nightmares. And close to Fever River was a school of men and women who used the plants of the neck in healing potions that had been invented in the time of the first men and the children of the forest.

Suddenly a figure appeared from the side of the boggy path that Karys was walking down. She lost her balance as her foot plunged into an unexpectedly soft piece of earth. A soft voice murmured,

"Your reflexes get quicker everyday. Forgive me for startling you. May I help you up?"

Howland Reed's face was split by a wide grin. Stepping backwards, he reached a hand forward to pull Karys out of the bog. Karys gripped his forearm and hauled herself upwards.

"One day, you will get bored of waiting in bushes to jump out at me."

Howland chuckled softly and reached up to sweep the clumps of mud from Karys' shoulders.

"One day, maybe. But not today. Are you returning to Greywater? It will be time for dinner soon. Did you find anything good today."

At this he shouldered his spear, and turned to walk the rest of the way to the castle with Karys. She walked alongside him, pulling the plants she had collected over the day out of the pouches at her waist and giving the to Howland to examine. He turned each one over in his palm before returning it to her, exclaiming over particularly fine or rare specimens, and laughing at her stories of monsters in the swamp.

Karys enjoyed the company of Howland immensely. Although not much taller than her, he was the same age as Ned and reminded her strongly of her older brother. Just like Ned, Howland was softly spoken and quiet, but with a warm heart. He was brave, but not bold or brash like Brandon. He even played jokes on her, like her brothers. Unlike the Stark boys, who all had the large, broad build of The First Men, Howland was smaller and slight, with tanned skin, freckles, dark brown hair and bright green eyes. He was intelligent too, more so than either of her brothers. Whenever she had questions or wanted to be shown something, Howland always made time. His immense knowledge of the plants and defences of The Neck was most impressive to Karys. Her only complaint was his constant deference towards her. His loyalty was unquestioned, but she often wondered if he held back from expressing himself fully or from challenging her.

She hoped it was not just of loyalty to her family that he was so attentive, but that they had a genuine friendship. It was strange for Karys to feel as though someone wanted to be friends with her, as she was so used to being overlooked in favour of her bolder siblings Lyanna and Brandon. Although she was perhaps not as adept as showing it as she should be, she was very grateful to Howland for his kindness towards her. She just wish he would challenge her a bit more, and not treat her like she was made of glass. She sometimes wanted to provoke a reaction out of him, but he remained tranquil as a pool of water.

As they returned to the Castle, which Karys had only recently learned to find without getting lost, Howland inclined his head in a small bow and said that he would see her at dinner. They then parted ways to their own chambers. Once in her own room, Karys washed the worst of the mud off her face and body with the water left by a servant in plain wooden bowl at the end of her bed. She patted the head of her wolf Frost, who turned her head away in annoyance. The wolf had not been allowed out as much in the marshes as she was in the lands around Winterfell. The animal was sluggish and grumpy from lack of exercise. But Karys had insisted they she would not be parted from her savage pet. She then set about tending the scratches up and down her arm. When she had cleaned and bandaged her wounds, she dressed for dinner and attempted to make herself presentable.

As she brushed her hair, she thought about all the things she had done that day, and all the questions she still had to answer. For her, this time at the neck was her own version of fostering. Brandon had gone to Barrowtown and Ned to the Vale to grow up. There they had not only learned how to be men, but also about themselves. They had also enjoyed a great deal of freedom. Karys was now experiencing that for herself. The Crannogmen did not compel their daughters to wear dresses and limit themselves to embroidery and romantic poetry, and so they did not impose such things on her. Karys discovered a great love of reading and exploration instead. She was finally discovering her own identity, without it being overshadowed by her siblings.

There were things she missed about Winterfell. She missed her family, and her handmaidens. She missed her rides out across the open spaces. She missed the great feasts with rich food, this was not easy to come by in Greywater Watch. She also missed her conversations with her sister, as they had not left on the best of terms.

"How can you leave me? First Brandon, then Ned, now you. Why are you so keen to leave me here, playing the lady of the castle. None of you want to stay with me. Is that why you are sending em to the Stormlands with him?" Lyanna had shouted as Karys had packed her trunks. Lyanna was still bitter about how their father and Robert Baratheon had planned - "plotted more like." - the engagement. There had been weeks of tears and shouting after she had been informed. Eventually she had calmed down and accepted the match out of family duty, as Karys had anticipated she would. That did not mean that she did not use it to make the other members of her family feel guilty.

Karys loved her sister and could understand why she was being so difficult about this time spent apart. However she could not deny her own happiness at being given this freedom. After years of having to assist her father and the maester in the running of Winterfell after her mother's death, she was finally getting to run around with fewer responsibilities. She also knew, with a sense of grim inevitability, that if nothing else this time in the Neck was delaying the moment that she would have to face the same fate as Lyanna - engaged to some Southron Lord to create alliances for her family, and increase the power of House Stark for when Brandon inherited the title of Warden of The North.

Karys sighed, put down the brush and straightened her dress before leaving for the dining hall. She had worked up quite an appetite over the day and was looking forward to the meal, even if it would be meagre by Wintefell standards. She assumed her place at the table which was, as her high rank of daughter of the Warden of The North commanded, between lord Reed and his heir Howland. Shortly after everyone was present Lord Reed commenced dinner with prayers of thanks to the Old Gods and to House Stark for their governance of the North. Then they settled down to a meal of thick broth and herby vegetables. Throughout the meal she talked with Howland about the plants she had discovered that day.

"I found more wolfsbane today, but I have so much of it. I did see something new though. There was a spindly old tree near the water's edge. I thought it was dead at first, but then I saw tiny white flowers on a branch. Underneath were small black berries that leaked a purple juice..."

"Did you taste the juice?"

Karys made no reply, but shot one of her baleful looks at Howland. Someone with their knowledge of plants and poisons did not go around licking unknown berry juices.

Howland chuckled and said "I apologise, I shouldn't have thought you would do something so foolish. It sounds to me like you have found a moonflower tree. Very interesting."

"Why interesting?" Karys asked.

"Because they usually only bring forth berries when Autumn is well underway. I think this summer is going to be even shorter than any of us expected. That is not good news." Howland answered.

Karys paused. A Short summer would be bad news, especially in the North where the snows would soon be on their way. "Is their anything else interesting about the monflower tree?" she asked.

Howland moved some of the potatoes around his plate before replying "Well they are very rare. To find one, even in season is a rare thing. I'm surprised you found one in this heat. And they never bloom beyond The Neck, you cannot find them in the South. But aside from that, well..." Howland trailed off before giving Karys a searching stare. He leaned forward and murmured so only Karys could hear, "They are exceptionally poisonous. The berries when ingested have very unpleasant side effects and lead to a very messy death. But the flowers, if stewed with the seeds and a few other ingredients over a long period, produce a clear poison that is almost... undetectable. In a few hours the victim feels icy cold, then they begin to shake, and then he collapses and is dead before he hits the ground."

Howland swallowed and then continued "as I said, they are exceptionally rare and the poison is complex and takes a long time. This means it is not a common poison. But it is one of the most lethal, and almost unknown outside of the North. If I were you, I would not say too loudly that you have found these berries. Even amongst us Crannogmen, it is a plant that is to be feared and treated with great caution."

Karys sat in silence after this. The look on Howland's face told her that this was a serious matter that was not to be made light of. But inside it was as if someone had lit a fire within her. She immediately anted to know more about his plant, and this potent poison. But her thoughts were interrupted by Lord Reed's voice,

"..Of course we will be sad to see you go. But I daresay that when you have completed whatever trip it is that your father is planning you may return to Greywater Watch. We will be only too pleased to receive you again."

"I'm sorry Lord Reed," Karys interjected, "I'm afraid I missed that."

"The raven that arrived this afternoon from Winterfell," Lord Reed replied. "Your father has called for your return as he requires your presence on some trip South. I believe he is going to Riverrun..."

Karys remained silent as Lord Reed continued talking. Why would her father require her presence on a trip to the Riverlands? A small voice in her head told her that there was only one reason her presence would be mandatory. Could she about to know how Lyanna felt about a secretly planned betrothal? Didn't Lord Tully have a son close to her age.. Edwin... Edmund? Something like that. She looked anxiously at Howland, but he would not meet her eyes and continued to push a piece of potato around on his plate in contemplative silence.

"Please excuse me Lord Reed," Karys said as she pushed her chair away from the table. "I am very tired after today's excursion. I would like to retire for the evening."

As soon as she was excused she went straight for her room. She changed into her nightclothes and sat on hr bed, scratching Frost behind the ears absentmindedly. So many thought were tumbling around in her head, she decided that sleep was the best way to process this new information. So she reached for the wooden cup of blood red tea on the bedside table. A tea made from the leaves and seeds of the weirwood.

It was one of the many habits she had picked up from the Crannogmen. They took the Old Religion and the Old Ways very seriously here. There were many snow white trees with blood red leaves concealed by the overgrowth in The Neck, and they were frequently adorned with trinkets and offerings from the Crannogmen. Howland had even said that it was his dearest wish to make the pilgrimage to the Isle of Faces, but he was prevented from doing so by a flare up of an old Grudge with House Frey of the Riverlands who controlled the land around this sacred spot. Nonetheless they took the Old Gods' gift of the sight very seriously here.

When Karys had mentioned to Howland that she sometimes had vivid dreams at the foot of the weirwood in Winterfell, he had taken her very seriously. She had expected that he would laugh or roll his eyes. That is what Lyanna and Brandon had done. Only Ned had listened to her talk about her dreams before, and even then she wasn't sure he believed her entirely. Howland on the other hand had listened to her, and proceeded to introduce her to some men and women who knew the Old Religion better than anyone, and who it was said possessed the sight. They were the ones who told Karys to drink a tea of weirwood leaves and seeds if she wanted to strengthen her sight. Karys found that her dreams became more vivid when she consumed this tea, and though the visions were not linear or more cohesive, they were clearer.

Taking a deep draught from the cup and settled down to sleep. Sure enough a string of images blazed in her dormant mind. Once again she saw the familiar group of riders setting out across the Northern landscape, once again she saw the drops of blood like rubies in the river. But now there were other sounds and sights. The pale sun over the riders grew stronger and stronger until it was no longer pale, but burned bright orange and she saw a shard of ice hanging from a wall begin to melt. She could hear the beating of leathery wings. She could see Howland stood along on a rocky outcrop, dusted with snow. He seemed to be looking into the distance. She moved beside the dream Howland to try and see what he was looking at. As she looked out from the rock she saw what looked like snow drifts in the blazing light. But as her eyes grew accustomed to the light, she saw that the drifts were not white, but red and yellow. They were sand dunes. A dark, thin creature was limping out from the snowy land where she and Howland stood, and into the sand. As she looked closer she saw the creature was a wolf, thin and gaunt looking, but with a swollen belly. It was pregnant. Why was it heading for the sand instead of staying in the snow? Could a wolf survive in the desert?

Karys slept fitfully that night. The next morning she could still see the images, dimmer now, as she packed her trunks. She didn't know what they meant, but she was sure they were not good omens. She wanted to ask someone what they thought, but she was so confused, she didn't even tell Howland what she had seen. Instead she kept packing. soon she was ready to return to Winterfell. By the time she returned it would almost be her fourteenth name day. The thought seemed to bring on a headache.


	8. Chapter 8: Bites

Karys was preparing for the return to Winterfell. Across her chambers her clothes and possessions were lain out neatly in preparation for being packed into great trunks. Of all these trunks, Karys was bent over the smallest one. It was bone white, made from the wood of a weirwood tree, just like her bow and the hilt of her dagger. It was held together by silver, snaking boughs that wrapped around the sides and lid, and the lock was in the shape of a weirwood trunk, whose carved face looked as though it was laughing. This box was special. It opened and closed as a normal trunk, but it contained false bottom, which which concealed a compartment large enough to hold several small bottles. If you knew where to look on the sides, you could find concealed sections behind the branches. The whole trunk was carved like a jigsaw. Ned had had it made for her name-day before he left to be fostered in the Vale. It now contained her most treasured possessions. A hair broach and silver ring that had belonged to her mother, a dragon glass arrowhead that she had discovered whist foraging out in the Wolfswood, and, most important of all, bundles of dried plants and various concoctions of her making. Most of them were medicinal, a variety of teas, and poultices to heal the sick and bring pain relief to the injured. Karys had set these to one side, however, and was placing a few choice items in the concealed compartment at the bottom. Some bundles of nightshade, distilled Septa's Hood, a thick, syrupy concoction the colour of ink, and the moonflower branches which she had wrapped in a piece of silk torn from her petticoat. She arranged these items quickly, before replacing the top section just as a serving girl walked into the room carrying more items to be packed.

Karys busied herself with packing for the next 2 days before she was ready to return to Winterfell. During this time she felt increasingly conflicted. Although she would be happy to return home, she was nervous about her Father's intentions in recalling her before she had told him she was ready. He had promised her that he would not set an engagement before she had completed her studies in The Neck. She was frustrated that her time in The Neck seemed to be over so quickly, and that she would have to give up her freedom and learning to go to somewhere as prissy and boring as Riverrun.

She bore no ill-will towards the Tullys of Riverrun, but they just seemed so boring. "Family, Duty, Honour" - those were the words of House Tully. A noble enough sentiment, but nobody feared a trout. She smiled to herself as she remembered her brother Brandon once saying that the Tullys were all as wet as fish in personality, and as useful as a hooked minnow on dry land when it came to battles. He had then turned to Ned and said "I wonder if their women get as wet as a river too?" which had caused Ned to blush furiously and Lyanna to overturn her bowl of soup as she doubled up in laughter. Lord Hoster's brother was a renowned fighter, but aside from him there was little about the Riverlands that interested Karys. Though perhaps she had been with the Crannogmen so long, she had gained their prejudices. Family. Duty. Honour. What sort of words were they? They were so obvious, Karys thought as she dropped overskirts into a trunk with a little more force than words actually reminded her of Ned. He loved his family, always did his duty, and was one of the most honourable men she had ever met. But all the Stark children had been taught these values from the cradle. There was nothing special about such values - they were a given fact of life.

*thud*

The serving girl whipped around and stared at Karys. Without realising it Karys had slammed down the lid on the trunk of clothes she had been packing. She took a deep breath, arranged her face in to a mask a nonchalance, and turned to the serving girl to say,

"Forgive me. My hands slipped."

With that she turned and walked out the room, making her way to the front door and the fresh air. Once outside, she took some deep steadying breath, and calmed herself.

"You should remember those words yourself," said a small voice in her head. "Think of your family. Think of your Duty. Think of your Father and Brother's honour. If Lyanna can acquiesce herself to marry Robert Baratheon, you can do the same." It pushed on, trying to persuade her, "You could be Lady Paramount of the Riverlands one day."

"And what do I care for being Lady Fish?" said another, colder voice. It spoke softly and gently, but with certainty and clarity. "I never asked to be lady paramount of anywhere. I don't care about the power struggles the Southron kings get so tied up in. I want no part of their game of thrones. I want to see the Ports of Braavos, the Pyramids of Mereen, and the ruins of Old Valyria. If I can't go there, I want to be left in the North. I don't want to kneel to some southron lord, to bend myself to his desires, and have my Northern spirit broken."

The first voice resumed, its tone light and reasonable, "Your father would never give you to someone cruel. He'd never pawn you away to a poor match. He loves you and want the best for you. Trust in him and his judgement. Maybe the Tully boy will be a good husband. A kind man, who you could grow to love. Or at the very least you could learn to live with."

Karys sighed deeply and looked up at the darkening sky. She felt a shiver run down her back, as the temperature in the marshes had dropped unexpectedly.

"And if you can't live with him," the cold voice whispered, "you can always hope he meets with an accident that will put an end to his living. And where hope fails, you can always make it happen yourself."

Karys remembered the bottles that lay in her smallest trunk. she squeezed her eyes tightly, trying to remove such thoughts from her head. They were terrible, awful thoughts, even if there was a grain of truth that burned like a fire in her mind. She turned on her heel, intending to return to the castle. Instead she found herself face to face with Howland.

"Are you quite alright?" He asked in his soft voice. "I saw you from the library. You seem agitated about something."

Karys wanted to tell him what she had been turning over in her mind, but couldn't quite bring herself to do it. The look on Howland's face reminded her so much of Ned's, she couldn't bring herself to confess that she had just thought about poisoning a man she'd never met in his marital bed. She knew how horrified Ned would have been, and couldn't bear to see his expression mirrored by Howland. Of course, Howland was a Crannogman and not as averse to poison as other Northerners, but there was a difference between using it to defend the North, and a woman using it to get out of a marriage arranged by her father.

"I was just sad about leaving so soon. I hoped I would stay a little longer."

"I was hoping you would be staying with us longer too. I have always loved the neck, indeed I love it so much that it makes it easier to bear being my father's heir. There is no place I would rather spend the rest of my days. I hoped you would come to see it's beauty and grow to love it too." Howland said. Karys smiled at him and dipped her head. He continued, "Come, we have one thing to do before you leave. We have to pay a visit to a weirwood tree."

The pair turned and made their way towards one of the old Weirwood trees secreted away in the Marshes. Karys and Howland knelt before the wizened old tree and closed their eyes, making silent prayer to the Old Gods. Karys' mind was still restless and turbulent. "Don't let me go to Riverrun. Don't Let me become Lady Trout. I'd rather never marry, than be dragged to an altar of the seven to marry against my will. I'd rather die than give up my freedom." She kept repeating the words over and over again. As she did so the same visions reappeared. Rubies, icicles melting in the Blazing summer soon, the pregnant wolf, blood sinking like rubies into water. Only now they dimmer, held back by her agitation and her distress. Like old memories, they seemed patchy and insubstantial.

Suddenly a sharp pain on her neck made her eyes fly open and she clapped her hand to the spot where it hurt. As she removed her hand, the great smear across her palm told her that she had been bitten by one of the many bloodsucking insects that called the marsh home. Getting to her feet she rubbed the spot instinctively, but instantly she knew it was a mistake as the pain grew worse. So she she started to look around for a broad dock leaf to crush and place over the wound to take away the sting.

"Were you bitten?" Howland asked, and Karys nodded. "May I take a look?" he continued.

Karys turned her neck towards him, and Howland leaned in to inspect the tiny pinprick. He rested one hand on her cheek, tilting her head to allow more light at her neck. The thumb of his other hand gently brushed over the tender spot on her neck. Howland pulled away, looked at her and said with a gentle smile,

"It doesn't look serious. I'm sure you'll live."

Perhaps it was the last residual heat from the day making the air of the marshes swim. Or perhaps it was the chill wind that announced the approach of winter that made the hairs on Karys' arm stand up. Whatever it was, something in the air had changed. Howland had not removed his hand from her cheek. Karys had barely comprehended the situation when Howland leant in and gently pressed his lips against hers. He was now cupping his hands around her face and pulling her gently closer. Karys remained frozen to the spot.

He broke the kiss after a short while and rested his forehead against hers before murmuring, "I really meant it when I said that I wished you were staying longer."

At this he pulled away, turned to go, and bashfully not meeting her eye, said "Come. We should return to the castle before darkness falls."

Karys said nothing, but fell into step beside him. She could still feel the residual pressure of Howland's lips on hers. And that was not all she felt.

She felt cold.

Howland was sweet and kind. He was gentle with her, and cared about her. But she did not feel any romantic feeling towards him. She had read enough to books to assume that a kiss with someone for whom you felt that way lead to burning passion, explosions, fierce heat. Instead she just felt cold. Perhaps the books were exaggerating things. Perhaps kisses were always like this. But Howland was too like her brother, too like Ned, honour-bound, dutiful, stalwart and brave. Because of his similarity to Ned, she had almost come to love him as she loved Ned. As a brother.

Icy disappointment seemed to seep into the area close to her stomach. She had so wanted to have a friend of her own, that she had never considered that it might not be the same way for Howland. She glanced at him covertly. He was somewhat handsome, and his shockingly green eyes were quite beautiful. He was slight and wiry, but was agile and could move quickly. He had a sweet and gentle smile, and, Karys thought to herself, he would never hurt her.

A thought suddenly blossomed in her mind, and she wondered whether this might not be the answer. Yes she felt no great passion for Howland, but he would be a good and kind husband. If she married him instead of Lord Tully's son she could stay in the North and enjoy all the freedoms she did now in the Neck. Yes, Howland's love for The Neck would mean that she would never get to travel beyond Westeros. Yes, she did not love him with a fiery passion. Yes, she found herself frustrated by the way he held back from her because of her rank. But The North was better than the Riverlands. Love could grow. She could try to make him open up, or learn to live with him. It could all work to her advantage...

They returned to the castle in total silence. And at the foot of the staircase in the main hall, Howland bid goodnight to her without meeting her eye, and departed for the library once again. Karys returned to her room to lay out her traveling clothes for the next day. That night she did not drink the weirwood tea, her thoughts were too crowded with real life.

The next morning she donned her travel cloaks, ate a small breakfast, saw to it that everything was loaded onto the carts for her return, and began making her formal farewells. She embraced Lord and Lady Reed, and thanked them for their hospitality. But when she came to Howland He simply made a formal bow, not meeting her eyes and flushing slightly across the tops of his cheeks. She made a small curtsey and instantly felt a bit guilty for thinking of using Howland to get out of marrying the Tully boy. Not guilty enough to discard the plan altogether.

She mounted her horse and, along with her party of guards, set out for Winterfell. Frost her wolf bounded out in front, her tail high as she looked forward to her first free run for a long time. The journey was uneventful, and they made good time. However the whole way Karys turned over all her options in her head.

"Marry Tully, be happy? Marry Tully, be miserable? Marry Reed, feel guilty? Marry no-one - run away to Essos..." Over and over, the same scenarios played out in her head, none more preferable than the other. Well before they reached Winterfell, Karys felt her head begin to hurt. The bite on her neck had begun to itch more every day, as she had never found a dock leaf to treat it after Howland had kissed her.

Soon the high turrets of Winterfell came into view. Karys inhaled deeply, the cold, fresh air filling her lungs. Frost threw her head back and howled, a sign of return. Barely a second later, the bells deep in Winterfell began to chime out. Karys kicked her horse into action and rushed towards the gates, Frost bounding alongside the speeding horse.

Skidding into the yard, she dismounted quickly and lightly leapt off the horse, landing on the floor in a flurry of petticoats. Her hair was in disarray and there were mud spatters on her pale grey travelling dress, but she didn't care. Her heart swelled at the sight of the familiar doors. After handing the horse over to a stable boy, she made for the doors, receiving shouts of welcome from the many people working in the yard. the doors swung open and she turned instantly towards the table as a shout that could only be Lyanna's rang out,

"Karys!"

Lyanna crashed down from the table where the family were eating lunch. She hurtled towards her sister with a wide grin on her face. Benjen followed behind, more gently but still at quite a speed. Last of all Karys could see her Father getting to his feet before her vision was obscured by the dark hair of both her siblings as they embraced her. By the time they finally released her, he had crossed the hall and, in turn embraced her too.

Taking her by the chin and examining the mud and dirt on her face and dress, he said, "I would like you to go upstairs straightaway and make yourself more presentable. I will send someone with hot water for a bath and you can have some food sent up as well. But please try to look a little ladylike - we have guests."

Karys looked back to wards the table, and sa that there were two other figures seated there. One was a rather rotund boy in the colours of House Manderly, and the other boy was almost a man. Handsome and powerful looking, with curly chestnut brown hair and smiling eyes. He was dressed in dark green and gold. He had a wide, genial smile and at once rose from the table, walked towards Karys, and gave a deep bow with a flourish of his hands. He then said in a deep and jovial tone.

"My lady. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Mace Tyrell, Heir of Highgarden in the Reach. I have been enjoying the delightful hospitality of your family for a while now, as I have been in the North researching the legends of Garth Greenhand and required some information of House Manderly who, as no doubt you know, were once a family of the reach..."

He barely paused for breath as he continued on in bright tones about his time in the North. Karys looked around, stunned at this man's ability to talk about the most boring details at such great length. Benjen was watching a bird on the window ledge. The member of house Manderly looked faintly embarrassed, as though it was somehow his fault for bringing Mace to Winterfell. Lyanna was openly rolling her eyes and shaking her head, not that the oblivious Mace noticed. Finally, Karys saw her father who was looking at her directly, with a strange look in his eyes."

"Your father has told me that you are quite the herbalist, my lady," Mace continued in a booming voice. "Well, you know us Tyrells - Growing Strong and all that. I would be greatly pleased if you could show me some of your collection of herbs. Even better would be a tour of the gardens here. You do have gardens in the North don't you?"

Karys' head began to hurt again, and the throbbing in her neck grew worse.


	9. Chapter 9: Roses

In the days that followed Karys' return to Wintefell, nowhere was safe from an appearance from Mace Tyrell. He strode around the keep, offering his opinions on everything, from the tapestries hanging in the Great Hall to the way the stable boys brushed the horses. Whilst he sometimes exclaimed over the beauty of the Northern scenery, he would also compare it to the formal gardens of High Garden, and express his deep preference for highly cultivated beds of roses over wild moorland. He had even detailed the correct way to prune an apple tree to Karys for over an hour whilst she had been checking the fruit trees in Winterfell's glass house.

He was not mean spirited. He did not intend to hurt his hosts, but he was a touch self important and indulgent for the steely northerners. But these aesthetic opinions were nothing, nothing, compared to the songs and poems.

"If I hear one more ballad about a knight leaving a rose on the window ledge for a captive princess, I am going to scream." Lyanna groaned, as she sank deeper into the fur lined chair.

She was sat by the fire in Karys' small room at the top of the tower. At her feet, Frost lay stretched out in front of the hearth, eyes closed and breathing deeply. Karys was sorting through draws of ingredients, examining them in the pale morning light, deciding which she needed to get more of before autumn ended, and didn't respond to Lyanna's exclamation,as she knew there was more to come. She fumbled the bunch of lavender in her hands. She felt strangely sluggish today.

"A rose on the window ledge. I ask you. Why not leave a sword? If you can get a bloody rose to the window ledge, you can get a sword there. And it would be more useful in helping her escape the tower." Lyanna let out a great huff of air in annoyance. Then she leant forward in the chair and turned to Karys "Did you hear what he said to me this morning?" Karys shook her head and Lyanna continued,

"I came down for breakfast - breakfast - in my blue wool dress, the plain one for everyday with the leather lacing on the front, and my autumn boots. He took one look at me, and complimented me on my 'simple and practical aesthetic' before telling me how the fashion for ladies in High garden is to plait their hair into seven parts and place seven small ornaments in each plait to represent The Seven. Also, the ladies will sometimes change their dresses several times a day, so that they always look fresh and at their most beautiful. Even at breakfast they will have a gown covered in embroidered flowers that bloom in the morning, before changing to a gown covered in flowers that enjoy the sun for lunchtime. Each gown is held together with delicate brooches and gold chains, which he thinks is 'sublimely elegant. Of course he understands how changing your dress frequently in the Northern climate, and such delicate ornamentation is 'highly impractical' here were women engage in 'more strenuous and vigorous practical labour' than the ladies of Highgarden."

Lyanna dropped herself back into the chair's furs before throwing up her hands in disbelief. "Seven braids? Golden brooches? At breakfast. I consider myself well dressed if I have brushed my hair before breakfast. Seven braids be damned." A wolfish grin spread across her face and she leant forward to address Karys once more.

"Maybe we should tell him as we in The North don't worship the Seven, it is our custom to stick twigs and leaves in our hair and leave them there to represent the weirwood trees. I think his precious sensibilities would be aggrieved."

"It's not correct to mock those who are under our guest rite, Lyanna." Karys murmured before adding, "Besides that's not correct about The Seven having no place in The North. House Manderly worship The Seven."

Lyanna snorted. "Only because they are rejects from The Reach themselves."

Karys raised an eyebrow before saying softly, "Yes. The Reach rejected them, and The North offered them safety. They have since then been ever loyal to The North, providing us with a great port trading to Braavos and beyond, feeding half the kingdom with their fishing boats, and their unquestioningly loyal service to our house. Yes they practice a different religion, and have more Andal blood than anyone else, but they are loyal as any other Northern house. Don't criticise our own banner men, it is dishonourable and crass."

Lyanna rolled her eyes, but had the decency to look slightly shamefaced before continuing, "anyway all this talk of hair led him into a song about Jonquil brushing her hair for Florian and I had to make my excuses before I threw my porridge at him."

"So that's why you are here disturbing my work." Karys said with a smile.

Lyanna stuck her tongue out at Karys and said "No, not at all. I brought you something didn't I?" And she gestured to the vase of blue roses that she had placed on Karys' workbench, perilously close to a teetering pile of books. They were blue winter roses - the only sort of rose that grew in The North, until Mace Tyrell had arrived. They reminded Karys of her mother, who had kept them on her dressing table. She remembered her mother brushing hers and Lyanna's hair, and telling them the tale of Bael the Bard, who stole the daughter of one of the old Stark Lords of Winterfell.

"Don't they brighten up the place?" Lyanna said, admiring them.

Then she said sarcastically, "Or if it would make you happy, bind and dry them, and keep them in one of your silly little drawers with all the other dead flowers. Why you prefer the dead over the living flowers is beyond me Karys." Her face changed. Her expression was one of concern and curiosity, with a touch of apprehension. "What do you think of Mace Tyrell?"

Karys shrugged and fiddled with the knot of twine around a bunch of rosemary before answering, "He is a perfectly acceptable guest. Certainly a proper young lord. They way he acts, the way he dresses, the constant poetry..." at this Lyanna sniggered, and Karys smiled. "He tries to be everything the legends tell us make a good knight. I don't know if he succeeds, but it is surely his aspiration. He has been a good guest, and mostly chivalric in his speech and actions."

"Do you think he is handsome?"

Karys paused. She knew the point at which her sister was aiming. "He is fair of face, though not necessarily the sort of man I..." She stopped short, then quickly resumed, "As with everything else. His looks are exactly like that of a story book. He could be a young Florian."

"But you never liked the stories of Florian..." Lyanna said in a way that conveyed it was a statement of fact, and a question.

"Florian was a noble young man. But Florian was a fool who loved the idea of a woman more than the woman herself.' Karys paused for half a second before continuing, "And Jonquil was nothing but a pretty girl with flowers in her hair... and shit for brains."

Lyanna snorted again. "Tell me what you really think of her, Karys," she said sarcastically. The her face sobered before she said, "Do you think he's here for you?"

"For me?"

Lyanna nodded soberly.

Karys thought for a minute then furrowed her brow. "I thought I was going to married off to the Tully boy. Isn't that why I was called back from The Neck?"

Lyanna shook her head vigourously "No. That's Brandon. Father has arranged for him to marry one of the Tully girls. The eldest. Caitlyn."

Karys' eyes widened in shock. "So I am not to be Lady Trout then," she said to herself.

At this Lyanna let out a bark of laughter, "Lady Trout. Oh that's excellent, Karys. But no, Brandon will marry the Tully girl, and when he becomes Lord of Winterfell he will have influence over The Riverlands, all the way through the centre of Westeros, with direct passage to Kings Landing and enough fertile plains to feed the North when Winter comes." Lyanna stretched her arm out in front of her as though gesturing across an invisible map of Westeros.

It made political sense, thought Karys. "But why would Mace Tyrell want to marry me?"

"Who else is there?" Lyanna said, a little carelessly Karys thought and shot her a grim look.

"No, you misunderstand me. Of the great houses in Westeros, how many daughters are there to marry? Caitlyn Tully is Betrothed to Brandon. I am betrothed to Robert Baratheon." at this she paused and gave a little shake of her head before continuing, "Elia Martell has married Prince Rhaegar. That leaves you, Caitlyn's little sister Lysa - though I hear she has been sequestered away for some reason and is an embarrassment to her father and sister - and Cersei Lannister. Let's not forget that since Lord Tywin Lannister and the King fell out, it is best not to be allied with house Lannister unless you want to risk the wrath of King Aerys. You are by far the most attractive, prestigious, and may I add, sanest option for any of the sons of the great houses."

Karys had missed much of the drama that surrounded the politics of marriage while in the neck, and she had to admit Lyanna made an excellent point. Her father had sealed alliances with The Riverlands and The Stormlands. That left the Eeryie - but Ned was fostered there, so perhaps Jon Arryn had been tasked with finding a suitable match from the daughters of The Vale. That left The Reach, with Mace Tyrell. In addition, there were The Westerlands - though if what Lyanna said was true, that would be politically imprudent. Anyway, wasn't Jaimie Lannister in the kingsguard? Karys thought there was another son, but nobody talked about him much. She remembered that she had heard Brandon mention that he had some kind of deformity. But a Lannister was still a Lannister.

Finally there was Dorne, but Prince Doran was already married to some Woman from Essos. There was a younger brother, but Karys did not know much of him, but dimly remembered Lord Reed mentioning something about exile. The only time she had heard of a Stark being in the desert was during the Conquest of Dorne, and he had died terribly. They had not ventured so far south since. Karys furrowed her brow, and suddenly felt as though her future was flying at her with great speed.

Lyanna had continued to gossip without knowing that Karys' mind had been elsewhere, "- and I heard that Cersei Lannister was so angry with how things turned out that she burned all her dresses that had even a hint of orange or yellow on them. Of course, the sigil of House Martell is orange - or is it yellow - and red, but if a Lannister destroyed any clothes containing crimson - they'd all be nak... You've not been listening to me have you?"

Karys' head snapped up and said, "Sorry. I was just... thinking..."

Lyanna looked at her sister with an expression that Karys rarely saw on her face. Sympathy. Lyanna rose from her chair and looked into the fire.

"It is all very strange isn't it. In a few short years we will no longer be at Winterfell, but far away, calling another keep home. Gods forbid, we may even have children." Lyanna sighed, and Karys could have sworn that there were tears forming in her sister's eyes.

Lyanna took a deep breath before saying "Mace is not so bad. Yes he's pompous and lacks a good deal of self awareness. But he is kind, and at least tries to be chivalrous. He's also rich - his house is second only to the Lannisters in wealth. You could have a good life in the reach. Besides," and at this she walked towards Karys and gripped her sister's shoulders firmly. "If you were in Highgarden, you would not be so very far from me in The Stormlands. We could see each other frequently, even if we wouldn't get to travel all the way to Winterfell." Lyanna gave Karys' shoulders a squeeze, and the two sisters looked at each other in silence whilst Karys felt a hot prickling sensation behind her eyes and her vision going blurry.

*BANG*

Both sisters jumped a foot in the air as the door of the room flew open and Benjen ran in as though he was being chased by a snow bear. He slammed the door behind him, before collapsing with his back against it. He looked at his older sisters and said in total disbelief,

"Who composes a 10 stanza poem about a horse?"

At this Lyanna threw her head back and laughed. Benjen sniggered too, before standing upright.

"He's mad I swear. It was a poem about a horse he has back in Highgarden. Apparently it's prettier than our Northern horses and runs much faster... or something. I stopped listening after the second stanza and started trying to find an escape."

"Well then," Lyanna said, clapping her hands together, "why don't we all escape together? And if our Northern horses are so inelegant, I can assume that Mace Tyrell will not want to join us on a ride out across the moors."

"That sounds ideal." Benjen said.

"How about you, Karys?" enquired Lyanna, "Are you going to join us?"

Karys' raised a hand to her head. It felt hot. Her mind was swimming with all this information she was processing. The side of her neck was throbbing, the bite she had received in The Neck had not disappeared. She could feel her heart beating in her chest and a distinct sense of nausea.

"N-n-no." She stammered. "I think I need some peace. I'm going to go to the Godswood for a while."

The three Stark children left the room and made their way to the Large doors that lead out into the yard. There they separated, Benjen and Lyanna heading for the stables and Karys for the Godswood.

In the Godswood, Karys knelt before the great weirwood tree in silence. Breathing the smell of rotting autumn leaves in she tried to still her racing heart. Her head was pounding, but with all her strength, and with all her panic, she willed herself to focus on her prayer.

"Show me the clearest path. Guide me. Please guide me."

The pain in her head was becoming unbearable, and she felt her temperature rising. It was as though she was kneeling in hot steam, she was so clammy. But finally the images she had seen so many times swam before her eyes. They were blurry, and confusing. As though she was looking at them through a swirling pool.

The riders. The sun and the melting ice. The stag. Howland. The pregnant wolf. The blood. The riders. The sun and the melting ice. The stag. Howland. The pregnant wolf. The blood.

Karys screwed her eyes shut to try and stop the pain overcoming her. The images were confusing and distressing.

"I see no roses. I see no roses."

But then, a new vision swam before her eyes. A great stretch of wintery lands unfurled around her, and she could feel the snow falling on her hair and face,. For miles there was nothing but white ground and grey skies. She could feel the hard, cold ground underneath her knees. She leant forward and pulled her dagger from the sheathe at her hip. She tried to press the blade into the earth, but it could not pierce the soil which had frozen solid. She removed the blade. Then, from where the point of her dagger had been, she saw a small slender sprout emerge, delicate as a thread of silk. A thin, pale light seemed to come from the sky, and the sprout push upwards, unwinding fine fronds from its fragile stem. Finally, the stem blossomed, and a pale blue flower unfurled in front of Karys, filling her nostrils with a soft and sweet scent.

Then a harsh gust of wind blew from behind with a mighty howl, and Karys hunkered down to protect herself. The icy blast burned her skin, even through her cloak. Although her face was hidden she could see the light outside getting brighter. When the howling had ceased, she raised her eyes upwards and was nearly blinded. The sunlight burned fiercely overhead, and then she noticed that the miles of snow covered moors had become sand dunes. She was in the desert that she had seen the Howland and the wolf. When she looked the floor, she saw the delicate stem of the blue rose had bent and broken in the wind. All around the pale blue petals lay scattered across the blood-red dunes.

With a faint hiss, the dunes began to move. As Karys watched she saw the sand shift to reveal the skull of a snake. Then the rest of the skeleton surfaced, and Karys saw it had been cut in two. Then another gust of wind blew, the sand shifted, and the snake was covered again, as the petals blew away in the wind.

Karys was confused, and murmured to herself. "No, no, no. Not a rose." True it had not been a golden Tyrell rose. It was a blue winter rose, just like Lyanna had brought her that morning. But if she was to marry a Tyrell, wouldn't she be like the winter rose? Did that mean she would have bend and break...

"I am not a rose." she thought, "I am...not... a Rose!" - without thinking she had said the last two words aloud.

"A rose at this time of year? In The North? I don't think so. Winterfell is distinctly lacking in gardens. I suppose this Godswood comes close, but its a little.. unkempt. Of course I don't mean to criticise. That is clearly the way a Northern Godswood should be."

Mace Tyrell was standing beside where she knelt. He had his hands on his hips and was surveying the great weirwood, the pools of water, and the surrounding vegetation with mild enjoyment.

"Lord Mace," Karys whispered through the pain in her head, "Would you give me a moment of prayer please."

"Did you know we have three weirwood trees in our godswood in Highgarden?" Mace exclaimed. "they are not as large as yours, but as a whole the woods are lighter and more airy. This is all a bit dark and gloomy for me."

"Please," Karys murmured through gritted teeth, her pain and her annoyance merging into one temper, "I am trying to pray. This space is very important to me. It is a place of solitude."

"Oh yes I understand," Mace replied brightly. But he did not leave and instead continued, "Even though King Garth IX built our beautiful sept at Highgarden, he still enjoyed the peace of the Godswood for prayer. Of course it is a place of tranquility i my home. Of course as I said, it is lighter and more pleasant feeling there. And the warmer climate means that it is not so muddy either. The ladies of Highgarden could not find any peace if their elegant dresses were covered in mulch and mud." He gave a rotund chuckle.

At this Karys lost control. The pain in her head and the confusion over what was happening in her life overcame her. She lurched upright, her head spinning, and swung around to face Mace Tyrell.

"Listen to me closely." She said in a voice that was soft with menace, " I am here to consult with my gods on matters most important to me. Mine are the Old Ways and my gods demand my reverence. They demand blood and devotion."

The heat inside Karys' body was rising and still the only thing she could think of was that broken rose. "The Old Gods see all and give no mercy, only truth."

She swayed violently on the spot before raising her head to the sky and closing her eyes. In a deep cracking voice she said, "And the truth my gods have shown me is this. Winter is coming, and roses will not survive in the North. The frost will bite at their petals and their roots cannot break through the hardened ground. And just like the ground, my lord, my heart is frozen solid and there is ice in my veins. I will have no roses."

Then the world turned upside down, and Karys fainted


	10. Chapter 10: Changes

Sorry for the long absence - family problems and writers block happened at the same time. Bit of a slow chapter this one, but hopefully it's leading up to some action. More to come soon!

\- Sofina

Karys tossed and turned fitfully in the bed. She was drowning in a sea of images that rolled around in her head, and she couldn't pull herself to the surface of the tumult of sand and snow that swirled around her. Rose petals and wierwood leaves, wolves and stags, she was freezing and burning. Then suddenly she felt a cool sensation, and a sense of the feeling returning to her hands and feet. Tentatively she opened her eyes. Someone was pressing a cool washcloth to her forehead.

"Wha...Wha..."

"Shh. Don't try to talk. Just rest." It took Karys a few seconds to realise that this was Lyanna's voice.

"You have been out for days," came another voice, which she recognised as Benjen's. "You have had the Marsh Fever. You were bitten by one the insects that live in the Neck."

Karys blinked several times. Here eyes felt sticky, and the view of the ceiling was like looking through a dense fog. She swallowed thickly several times and tried to haul herself upwards. Lyanna leaned forward to support her whilst Benjen rearranged the pillows behind making herself comfortable, Karys said in a hoarse voice,

"I don't remember what happened. Everything is so confused in my head."

"Well you had a small episode of madness in the Godswood. In a total delerium you not only stabbed the roots of the Weirwood tree to bits with your dagger, but also insulted the eldest son of one of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms. You not only threatened him with your dagger but proceeded to rant about how you hated roses. You then collapsed and were brought here to your chambers. You have been here for 4 days, hovering near the edge of death, except for that one time when you woke up, shouted something about a deer and punched one of the serving girls who had come to change your blankets. Oh and you have enraged Father and driven the rest of us mad with worry."

As Lyanna had said all this, Karys noticed that her sister had not met her eyes once. She sat on the edge of the bed folding and refolding the damp washcloth with more force than was necessary. Also, even though the insulting of a prospective suitor and accidentally knocking out a servant was something Lyanna would normally find amusing, Karys could detect no mirth in her sister's voice. She opened her mouth to say something, but Lyanna stood up quickly and said,

"I am going to tell father you are awake. He'll be glad that you are out of the woods, but I would prepare yourself for him to be less than pleased in regards to everything else."

With that, Lyanna marched from the room, her undone hair swinging with the force of her movement.

Karys closed her mouth and looked to Benjen. He looked at the floor and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"She's furious. So is father. Mace Tyrell was frenzied when we found you two in the Godswood. He was half terrified that your were lying dead in front of him, and half enraged about what you'd said. Though to be honest, you had made so little sense that he wasn't sure exactly what you had said to him, though he knew that you had refused any offer of a marriage proposal. But at some point you were totally incomprehensible because you had slipped into what he called "incomprehensible grunting and babbling." We think you were talking in First Tongue - you did a few times here whilst you were here in bed. We managed to convince Mace Tyrell that everything that happened was because of the fever, and that you never acted like this. Father worked very hard to soothe Tyrell's bruised feelings. Lyanna did too. I've never her talk so sweetly when there was nothing in it for her."

Benjen paused, shifted awkwardly once more, then leaned in close to whisper even though there was no-one else in the room.

"Father is of course furious about the whole thing. All his work to get you a good match, all the politics. There's no way you'll be matched with Mace Tyrell now. He's probably gone back to Highgarden to tell them all about the Northern savages with their strange behaviour and bizarre religious deliriums. They'll never accept a barbarian amongst the roses of The Reach." With this he gave a small smile.

Karys replied, "Of course, I understand that. But why is Lyanna so cross with me?"

Benjen paused before answering. He furrowed his brow and spoke slowly and cautiously. "I cannot say exactly why. But if I were to guess, It would be that I think she is jealous."

"Jealous?" Of what?"

"Well," Benjen paused again, "Think about it. All that time she spent protesting her own engagement, and all she ever heard from anyone - including you - was "accept the inevitable," "just give in". Then you - the quietest of all of us - manage to chase away your match my turning on him and shouting all the things she ever wanted to shout about her own engagement. And now you have no match. She has to secure her match more than ever, whilst you are free."

"What do you mean?"

"All Father has been saying is that we'll be lucky if Mace Tyrell doesn't open his big fat mouth -

"Father said that?"

"Well, Maybe not that." Benjen admitted, " But you know what I mean. He's likely to spread the story of what happened all the way back to the reach. That's more or less every other kingdom that's going to hear about the way you behaved. Who will take you for a daughter in law after that? Who's to say the rumours won't make Lord Baratheon want to break off his ties to Lyanna? As Far as Father is concerned the sooner her marriage goes ahead to the stormlord, the better. He's already crazed with worry over this meeting in Riverrun with the Tullys. What if they don't want to take Brandon now? And he's twice the crazed barbarian you are."

Karys smiled at Benjen's gentle humour. But her smile soon faded when she thought over what he had said. In her selfishness, in her myopic view of the events unfolding around her, she had forgotten how her action reflected on the family, and on The North. She cursed herself inwardly. Normally she was so good at remaining calm, remaining inscrutable. But when it mattered most she had lashed out and bitten the hand that feeds. She vowed that from then on she would always remember to arrange her face, to hold her tongue, and never let anyone under her skin again. That is how weakness found its way in, and she could never risk letting anyone discover that she too had wolf's blood in her veins, not just ice.

In the days that followed, Karys remained in bed. She read the letters that Ned had sent her, filled with concern for her health and offering to make the long journey from the Vale to come and see her. Brandon too sent a couple of letters, though his were not as long and worried as Ned's. Karys put this down to Brandon's inability to sit still long enough to put pen to paper, rather than a lack of concern. Benjen too was a regular visitor, telling her about the goings on in the castle. She was amazed at how much he had grown this last year. He was not yet old enough to grow a beard, and still retained a touch of the sweetness of childhood, occasionally bringing her roughly gathered bouquets from his rides.

Lyanna, however, kept her distance. She made an appearance no more than twice in the days after Karys regained consciousness. Once was to bring in a tray of food as the servant Karys had hit during her fever dream was reluctant to come, and the second time was to announce the imminent arrival of their father in Karys' chambers. Neither time had there been much speaking and Lyanna had purposefully kept her gaze from meeting Karys'.

The meeting with her father had been awful. At first he inquired after her health, expressing his gladness that the illness had not been as serious as it could of been. Marsh Fever was potential fatal, and Karys had hovered too close to the edge of life. But the the reprimands began.

"Do you have any idea of what you have done? How you have jeopardised our family's fortunes? House Tyrell Is one of the wealthiest and most powerful houses in all seven kingdoms, and you have gone and insulted the heir!"

Karys remained silent, with her eyes fixed on the floor, and nodded her head.

"I am aware that you were sick, but what could have possessed you to act like that?"

Karys stayed silent again, but in her mind she flashed back to the Godswood. Father hadn't been there, he hadn't felt what she felt. She had been sick, certainly, but she had also seen things. Things she had seen before, and things that were new. He hadn't seen the blood and the snow, the petals and the sand. He hadn't felt the heat and cold burning her skin. He hadn't felt the fear, the sense that something was coming...

"You behaved rashly, and as you never have done before. I would have expected such things from Lyanna - but you have always been so calm, so peaceable. I expected that you would accept it when the time came for you to be betrothed. Was that not our deal? That you would have your time in The Neck and then you would come home and prepare for your engagement?"

At this Karys looked up. True, she had Asked her father to send her to The Neck before she was wed, but he had summoned her back before she was ready.

"I wasn't ready yet" she said. "I wanted more time. There was more to do. I though I would have longer to... to..."

"To what? Karys, there is no more time. Childhood will soon be over and you will soon be expected to take on all the responsibilities of an adult, like you sister, and your mother before. Childhood ends for all of us, we cannot run away from time. What did you think you would find in The Neck?"

Karys didn't say anything but inside she thought, _"answers. Reasons why I see the things I do. Understanding why I have been sent this visions when no one else does. Peace with my abilities."_

Her father sighed and sat on the edge of the bed.

"I had not even come to an agreement with House Tyrell. He was the best match we could have hoped for, but it will not happen now. Can you see why I am so angered?"

As he looked at her, Karys felt the guilt rise up i her throat like bile, and she cast her eyes downwards once again. She was angry with her father, frustrated with her situation, but she also knew she had acted in a way that had shamed the family in front of the Seven Kingdoms, and that her Father's anger was not unfounded.

"I will leave you with your thoughts Karys. I hope you can reconcile yourself to what has happened. Promise me that you will not act so rashly next time. We must do what we can to salvage the situation."

Karys nodded. Her eyes were still firmly fixed on the blankets as her father left the room, and left Karys to the quietness of the chambers, disrupted only by the howl of the wind outside as it blew yellow grey snow-clouds southwards.

For the next few days Karys remained abed. As snow fell around the keep, Benjen and the maester brought her account books and she dutifully resumed her work organising the affairs of Winterfell and The North - adjusting imports and exports, working out how much of the harvest had to be removed from storage to feed the ever growing population of Winter's Town as the cold drew in.

One day the snow stopped, and thin watery sunlight woke streamed in as Rickard Stark stood by the fire in Karys' chambers.

"The Maester tells me that you are recovering well, though are still not well enough to travel." He said with a stony expression. "However our journey to Riverrun cannot be postponed any longer. The Tullys patience cannot be pushed any further. So I will continue with your sister, and we will join Brandon in Barrowtown before heading for the Riverlands. Benjen is still to young to come on a mission so diplomatically ... sensitive."

At this he looked at her with stony eyes, and seemed to be thinking something over before he finally said.

"Therefore I am leaving him, and this keep in your charge. When I leave this afternoon, you will be the Stark in Winterfell and the acting warden of The North. I know you understand the responsibilities of running The North, perhaps more than any of my other children..." Rickard cast his eyes over the stacks of account books and piles of letters piled by the side of Karys' bed. Karys looked straight at him, not making a sound.

"So let us understand each other Karys. I know you to be a capable young woman, and that you comprehend the burden of what I am asking of you. I hope too that you can see it as a chance to prove yourself after the recent events... a way of making amends."

He turned to leave, but then changed direction and moved towards the bed. He rested his hand on her shoulder squeezing it gently, and then he kissed her hair.

"I hope I can be proud of you" he said, before finally leaving.

Karys lay back against the pillows and tried to comprehend what had occurred. After days of silence and shame, she was suddenly to be the acting warden of The North? She knew it was not uncommon for Lords Paramount to leave their children in charge of the house seat when they had to leave on urgent business, but usually it was one of the eldest, and almost always a male child. Why had father not called Ned back from the Vale to sit in the Throne of the Kings of Winter? Was it really just to test her? And what was he testing her on? Her competence as mistress of a house? Or on her loyalty to the family?

These thoughts stayed with her for the rest of the day. Lyanna came in and gave a curt goodbye at lunch time. Soon after, the nights were coming in earlier now, she heard sounds from the yard below that signalled a mass departure from Winterfell.

She was still weak and frail, the sickness had not totally left her body. However, with great effort, she removed the many blankets on her bed, and hauled herself out of bed and across to the window. She saw the party of riders mounted on horseback, and a few carts of provisions and gifts alongside. Then a horn sounded and the group left through the keep's gates, and rode out across the wintery Northern landscape. Amongst the fur collared riding cloaks, Karys could pick out Lyanna's midnight black hair streaming behind her, reflecting the light from the sun which hung low and pale in the bleak sky. Although it was pale, it had begun to melt away the freshly fallen snow, clearing a path before the riders.

Karys gave a shiver. It was not the first time she had seen the scene before her. She had seen it before the weirwood tree, and night after night in her dreams.

Next to her bed, one of the ice blue roses Benjen had brought her on his last visit dropped one of its petals to the floor.


	11. Chapter 11: Envoys

_**Note: All words spoken in First Tongue will be in italics.**_

 _ **Sorry for the late update - this was originally part of a longer chapter, but I thought it was getting too long. I hope to have improved on the next part of this story soon. I really appreciate all the comments and reviews I have received - you are all amazing and I can't thank you enough.**_

* * *

The snow fell outside the window of Rickard Stark's solar. The grey skies obscured the early winter sun and made it feel more like twilight than midday. Karys pulled the thick furs closer around her as she shivered. She was still weak from the Marsh fever and it left her vulnerable to the cold as never before. She had never been weak to the cold like this before. It felt unnatural to her - she was made for the winter. A great fire burned in the hearth and in front of it Frost slept, her stomach rising and falling in a deep slumber.

Karys reached forward and pulled another leaf of Parchment towards her and furrowed her brow as she analysed the figures. Dipping her quill in the ink, she paused momentarily to make sure that she had calculated correctly. Then with a scratch of the quill she in creased the amount of bearskins to be sent to Braavos in exchange for some fine silks from deeper into Essos.

She had been in the solar since the early hours and had worked her way through many such pieces of parchment. Trade agreements, account details, requests for help in minor disputes between Northern Lords. Confined as she was to Winterfell while she recovered from her sickness, she devoted most of her time to staying on top of the large amount of paperwork that the Warden of the North had to deal with. As of yet, she had not been called in to deal face to face with any problems, but she knew it would not be long. Besides , it would soon be the end of Harvest festival. With all the goods gathered in, the Northerners would gather to pray to the Old Gods to survive the coming winter, and Karys would be expected to lead them in their devotion and in the feasting afterwards. She was aware that her quiet and reclusive nature made her ill-suited to such things, but she was determined to uphold the Northern traditions whilst her father was away. Indeed much of her work this morning had been writing the invitations to the larger houses of the North, inviting lords and their heirs to attend the festivities.

She rubbed her eyes and rested her face in hands for a few minutes, to relieve them from the strain of staring at the words scrawled on the page. She lifted her eyes to stare out the window. How she longed to be out there. To feel the freezing wind hit her face like a slap. To feel the needles of cold pierce her fingers. She wanted to be blinded by the whiteness of it all and to smell that smell that comes when everything is covered in snow - the smell of ice-cold emptiness.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. As she called for the visitor to enter, the maester opened the door and stepped into the room.

"Forgive the disturbance my lady, but I was wondering if you had a moment to spare."

"Of course Maester, how can I help?"

"One of the residents of Winters Town died suddenly in the night, and I feel we should investigate the matter further."

"You do? Is there any particular reason? Do you suspect foul play?"

"Nothing like that, my Lady. I only worry that with the increasing population of Winters Town as the weather grows worse, and out break of disease could spread quickly, and with disastrous consequences. I suggest that I perform an autopsy to establish the cause of death as quickly as possible."

"Of course maester Luwin. And if it is not too distracting for you, I would like to assist in the autopsy."

"My lady, Surely you have more pressing matters to attend to? Something like this can be dealt with by me."

"Maester Luwin, I have been at these papers for hours. It has been a long time since you taught me the medical arts, is it not time that you ensured I have remembered all you taught me?"

Maester Luwin could see this was not a battle he could win and so conceded to Karys. The pair left the solar and descended down the stone stairs. They did not go to the Maester's quarters on the floor below, but continued to descend to the rooms that lay below the frozen ground. Karys' breath began to rise in front of her as the temperature began to drop so far away from the warming fires that the servants kept burning in the other rooms. The plumes of steam rising from her and the maester's breath made them look like the dragon that myth said lay beneath the walls of Winterfell, warming the hot springs.

Maester Luwin opened a heavy oak door on the left of the corridor, then stood back to allow Karys to enter first, as rank demanded. As Karys entered she saw the room was almost bare except for a large table, covered in a sheet, and a smaller table upon which lay a variety of surgical tools and a large basin of water. There was a thin film of ice forming on the surface of the water, and under the sheet Karys could see the unmistakeable shape of a human body. The maester walked forwards slowly and removed the sheet to reveal the shape of a naked young man - he couldn't be older than Brandon - lying as though frozen, his eyes staring unseeingly towards stars that the snow obscured.

Karys came forward and leant over the body, her eyes scanning the pale form in front of her.

"No obvious signs of disease or wounding," she said so softly that it was barely above a whisper.

"No," agreed Maester Luwin. "Or at least, none on the outside."

"Very well," Karys sighed. "I learned a lot about medicine in The Neck, but I hope I have not forgotten all the anatomy you taught me prior to my leaving." She removed the shawl that had lain around her shoulders, and began to roll up the sleeves of the plain grey wool dress.

"My lady. Are you sure it is advisable for you to be doing this? You have not long recovered from your fever. If he has died from some illness it would not be a good idea to expose yourself to it when you may still be weak."

Karys raised her hands and ran her fingers through the air above the instruments that lay on the table, before dipping her hand into the water and breaking the fragile film of ice in the surface.

"At least," continued Maester Luwin, "put your shawl back on. You will freeze."

"Actually," Karys replied looking at her hands though the broken fragments of ice floating on the water's surface, before slowly raising them up and out into the air, "I can't feel the cold at all."

She picked up a thin knife and made her first incision into the body. Without reprimand or comment, the maester began to assist. They worked for almost an hour, Maester luwin pointing out parts of the anatomy, and Karys identifying them or passing comment. She hadn't forgotten a thing, and left no possible hiding place for the cause of death.

As she examined the area around the stomach she noticed something. The young man had been dead for hours in temperatures well below freezing. however, the stomach remained marked, and red. Other organs were also damaged, and he had died with congested lungs and traces of vomit in the throat.

"How unusual." remarked the maester, pointing to wards the lower half of the torso. "He appears to have been bleeding from the gut."

Karys took a step back and cast her eyes over the whole body. Then she took a knife and opened the stomach carefully. A pungent and unpleasant smell was released, which made both Karys and the maester stand back.

"Do you suspect a malady of the gut?" asked the maester.

"No." Karys said calmly and emphatically. "Not a malady."

With a pair of long tweezers she reached into the open stomach and began to pull the remains of the man's last meal from inside.

"There." Karys said quietly. In the grip of the tweezers she held a dark red mulch. As she held it towards the flickering candles that illuminated where she and the maester were working, small dark seeds were revealed.

"Woody nightshade." Karys said. "I imagine he was out collecting the last of the redcurrants for winter, and he stopped to sample some for his dinner. The woody nightshade berry looks very similar and grows in similar places. If he had spent more time looking at the berries and less time shoving them in his mouth, he might have spotted the difference."

"You should not speak quite so harshly of the dead," Maester Luwin gently reprimanded as he began to clear away the autopsy.

Karys put the tweezers down and once again plunged her hands into the icy water, washing the congealed blood ad juice off them. She rolled down her sleeves and wrapped the shawl around her shoulders once again. "Only the living care about what we say of the dead. The dead don't care how we speak of them. They're dead."

And with that she left the room.

Karys made her way back up to her Father's solar, where she intended to finish reading the correspondence that had arrived with the morning's ravens. On the way, however, she was stopped by a servant, who told her that there were a few smallfolk waiting int he Great Hall who wished to speak to her. Karys saw the servant blanche, and it took her a while to remember that her dress must be covered in the detritus of the autopsy. Besides her plain wool dress was probably not appropriate for being on show as the acting Warden of the North.

"Tell them I will be with the presently. But first I must clean myself up."

She diverted her path towards her own chambers in a more remote part of the castle. There she removed her sullied dress and changed into a light grey dress with a with a darker woollen over coat. She puled her hair into a simple plait, and clipped back the stray strands with a silver clip of her mother's in the shape of a frond of ivy.

As she made her way to the great hall she paused and composed herself. She felt the brush of fur against her fingertips and when she looked down she saw the dark eyes of Frost looking back up at her. She stroked the white fur on the wolf's head and Frost lifted her head to lick Karys' fingertips.

Taking a deep breath, Karys opened the door and made her way across the floor with Frost sloping alongside her. The hall had never seemed so long before. The cold grey slabs seemed to go on and on, and the great seat that was still called The Throne of The Kings Of Winter seemed to be miles rather than meters away. Carved from the wood of the weirwood tree, it stood bone white against the Grey walls - ghostly and austere. Even though it was over 300 years old, it looked as fresh a sapling, save for the smooth marks of wear on the seat and arms that belied the many Starks who had sat upon it. It had been in use before Aegon the conquerer had made Torrhen Stark kneel before him and joined the North to the other Kingdoms of Westeros, and Karys could almost feel the spirits of her ancestors radiating from the seat as she approached. Many great Kings of Winter and Wardens of the North had sat there, and she was suddenly aware of her own unworthiness. To her right she saw a huddled group of small folk who stared at her as she passed. Karys wondered whether they felt cheated that their complaints and requests would not be heard by the real Warden of the North.

She settled herself in the great white chair, placed her hands in her lap and cleared her throat. Frost settled herself at Karys' feet, her head resting on her front paws, relaxed but protective. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Maester Luwin come in clutching his papers and a board to write on, and he was followed by two servants carrying a small table and cup of honey tea. The maester settled himself in a small chair on her right hand side, and the servants placed the table and the tea to her left. Once everyone was settled a deep silence fell on the hall. Karys took a deep breath, the raised her hand to beckon the first supplicant forward and said, as she had heard her father do a hundred times before,

"Do you wish to ask something of the Warden of the North?"

The first of the small folk made a move towards her. He looked to be older than her father. he was grizzled and slightly hunched over, wearing rough woollen clothes, and his hands were callused and bore the marks of frostbite from former winters. Karys was sure that if she could make this man believe that she had the authority of the Warden of The North, the others would believe it too.

The man shuffled forwards and regarded her with a raised eye brow. Karys hesitated. She could tell that he was debating whether to accept her or not. Finally he bowed before her and addressed her, half in the common tongue, and half in the ancient sounds of first tongue.

"My Lady, I have come here from Deepwood Motte. We have worked ourselves hard for this short _summer_ to grow as much food as possible and we have worked hard to bring in as much harvest as possible, even though the autumn was short. We has not long brought the harvest in when our _stores_ were raided by a _great bear_. He has taken a great deal of our food and we don't know how long we will survive with what he left us. I am hoping you can find some way of helping us because lives are at stake _and winter is coming_."

Karys considered the man and her answer for a long time. Eventually she said.

"There are no more than 150 people in your village, am I correct?"

"Aye."

"Then I propose the following. You may take 20 bags of grain and 10 barrels of ale from Winterfell's stores. This should be enough to see you through the next two months. I will send one of my maester's pages with you to assess the extent of the damage to your stores. Then we will see how much more aid is required. Does that sound acceptable to you?"

"Yes my lady. _Thank you_ "

" _You are welcome_. Next?"

And so they came forward one by one. A man in a well trimmed jacket and embossed leather belt declared that the grain stores in Goldgrass required fresh timber. An emissary from Castle Cerwyn offered apologies that the lord in charge of the castle would not be attending the start of winter feast, because of a sickness but would be sending his eldest son instead. Another emissary, this time from the Vale, brought a letter too long for a raven from her brother Ned. A young woman with an aging yellow-green bruise over her eye had travelled a great distance from Ramsgate to obtain permission for divorce from her husband, whom she had caught in bed with another woman and had then beaten her when she confronted him. This last one caused a great deal of discomfort to the emissary from The Vale, who let out a few audible words of disapproval at the woman's demand. The woman turned around, drawing a short axe from under her cloak and proceeded to tell the emissary that it was her right under the Old Ways to get a divorce and she wouldn't let a pious fool from The Vale try to shame her the way they shamed their women in The South. While Karys privately agreed with this sentiment, she had to quickly try to smooth things over with the emissary, before firmly granting the woman her right to divorce, so long as she put the axe down.

Eventually, the crowd of small folk dwindled, and soon all that was left was one of the Winterfell guards.

"My lady, a ranger from The Night's Watch passed by yesterday, saying that there was a deserter on the loose. We believe we have caught him this morning."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes my lady."

"Where was he found, and who is he?"

"He says he was on his way to the Sunset Sea. He's called Joryn, and was originally from The Westerlands, but was sent to the wall for robbery and assaulting the wife of a goldsmith near Casterly Rock."

Karys sighed. The other kingdoms too often used The Wall as a convenient way of disposing of their criminals so that they did not have to deal with them. They left The Wall vulnerable because they did not send well trained men Northwards. It seemed only House Stark still treated service to The Night's Watch and honour.

"Very well," she said gravely. "Should we return him to The Watch?"

Maester Luwin cleared his throat and leant towards Karys. "Actually, my lady. Normally it is the Warden of The North who administers punishment to deserters who are found south of The Wall. Of course the punishment is..."

"Death." Karys finished the sentence before the maester could. "And our ways are the old ways - he who passes the sentence must swing the sword." As she said this a heavy silence fell over the hall again.

"Perhaps," continued Maester Luwin, "given the current circumstances here at Winterfell, we could put the man in question in the cells until your father returns?"

Karys thought about this. On the one hand, she had never taken a life before. She was still a week away from her 14th Nameday and that would be early even for a boy to have killed someone. On the other hand, her father had charged her with this position and that meant upholding the law - be it the law of King Aerys and the Seven Kingdoms or the Old Ways.

"No. I will pass the sentence."

"My lady..." began Luwin.

"No. My word as acting Warden of the North is final. He will die before sunset for his desertion. I shall see to it."

And with that she rose from the seat and addressed the guard. "Assemble a party of riders and retrieve Ice from the armoury. I want to leave as soon as possible - the nights are drawing in faster."

The guard bowed and said "At once my lady. I also have a letter from the ranger who passed by. Forgive me for not delivering it sooner, but we were caught up in the man hunt."

"Please give it to the maester. I must go and ready myself for the ride."

And with that she left the hall to find a thick coat to ride in, a thick sense of nausea forming in her stomach and Frost following her.


	12. Chapter 12: First Blood

Once she had found a thick grey coat lined with rabbit fur, she descended from her chambers and made her way towards the large doors of the castle and then on to the stables. There she found Benjen already mounted on his horse.

"And where do you think you are going?" she asked him, with half a smile.

"I hear you are riding out to execute a man." Benjen replied.

The smile fell from Karys' lips, and she looked towards the ground. She was anxious enough about what she had to do. The sense of dread and nausea was growing in her stomach. But as terrible as it was to contemplate, it was just as terrible to her to imagine her father's disappointment upon the revelation that she had failed him again. He had left her here to rule the North in his stead as a test, and she had to prove herself worthy. The law demanded that a deserter of The Night's Watch be executed, and Northern Law dictated that it be the man who passed the sentence who carried out that execution.

The latter law was older than the former, and the Starks had lived by that code for centuries. Not even the arrival of Aegon and his sister-wives, or generations of Targaryen kings and queens had changed that law. Torrhen Stark may have bent his knee, but he had not bent the spirit of the North or its traditions. It was one of the things that set the North apart from other Kingdoms in Westeros. In return for Torrhen's apparent acquiescence, the Northerner's adherence to the Old Way had remained untouched, and as such the North was exempt from some of the laws that emanated from the Iron Throne. Such as the ability of women to bear arms in war or the woman who had come to petition Karys for a divorce. A woman was free to ask for a divorce in The North, if her husband was a drunk, an adulterer, or violent towards her. She also had the right to take her share of the land they worked together if he was truly terrible to her. It was more common for the smallfolk of The North to exercise these rights, whereas the more highly ranked families taught their daughters to look the other way for the sake of the family's reputation and advancement. Moreover, women had to consent to marriages in The North. Without the consent of the woman, the marriage could not take place. That is not to say that the women of the North married for love more than the women of the other seven kingdoms, the politics of Westeros permeated marriage alliances here too, but at least they were allowed to have their say. Just as Lyanna, who had loathed the idea of marriage to Robert Baratheon, but had indeed grudgingly given her consent for the sake of the family and for their father. Karys wondered whether Lyanna would grow to regret this consent when she was finally installed in Storm's End as Lady Paramount of the Stormlands.

But the sun was rising steadily in the sky and there were precious few hours of daylight at this time of year. Karys found her horse and mounted ready to ride. As she pulled up next to Benjen's mount, her brother proffered her weirwood bow and arrows and said,

"Maybe if there is enough light left we can hunt a while."

Karys regarded her baby brother for a moment. Despite feeling the loss of their mother more keenly because he was so young, Benjen had retained his sensitivity. He loved to roam and hunt in the woods around Winterfell, but he was never as brusque as Brandon, he was more gentle like Ned. He had never seen a man killed, and Karys felt a great wave of sorrow that it would be her who would take this slice of his innocence away. It should have been Father, or Brandon. Even Ned. They should be there to teach him how to be a man. She had never seen a man killed by another's hand, but she had seen her fair share of sickness, wounds, and corpses under the maester's tutelage. She took the bow and arrows from him and gave him a small smile as the rest of the riding troop signalled that they were ready to ride.

"When it happens," she said softly, "Don't look away."

Benjen nodded, and they rode out of the great gate, the rest of the group behind them.

For two hours they rode across the barren landscape. The earth alternated between thick snow and slurried paths. Occasionally they passed a small huddle of houses or tiny village where a few people or animals could be seen moving, though many seemed near abandoned as the residents had moved to Winters own for the harshest part of the year. The pale sun rose higher and higher, but still remained low in the sky. As they approached their destination it reached its pathetic zenith, and struggled to fend off the snow clouds that raced in front of it. At the edge of the Wolfswood they saw a huddled group. Several riders wearing the Stark colours, men sent out to find the rogue, and there was one all in black, a ranger of The Night's Watch, on the same mission. Between them, kneeing in the snow, was another figure. The condemned man was enduring his final moments.

The approached and the riding party dismounted. Karys, accompanied by Benjen and several guards, lead the way. The ranger broke apart from the group and came towards them. He had long dark hair pulled back from his face, and a rough beard. The black fur of his cloak was matted, and the wool was frayed in places. The leathers he wore were also battered. He moved forwards with great purpose and swiftness and he spoke directly with an accent that indicated his origins were Northern.

"You're Rickard Stark's Daughter?"

"Yes." Replied Karys

"So you are the Stark in Winterfell?"

"Yes."

"Very well. I am Ranger Furlong, and I will be brief. This one here has deserted his post on the Wall. The Punishment for desertion is death. As he is away from the Wall and in The North, his sentencing is your responsibility, and in keeping with the Old Ways, The Watch would appreciate it if you would carry out that sentence as swiftly as possible. I would also personally appreciate it so that I may return to The Wall as soon as possible."

"I understand Ranger Furlong. I will endeavour get this over with as soon as possible."

The Ranger nodded his head and stood to the side so that Karys could approach the captive. His head was bowed and all she could see was a crop of sandy blonde hair. As she approached he raised his head and she saw a thin, youthful face that had obviously been worn by the harsh life at the wall and on the run, as his cheeks were somewhat sunken and there was evidence of bruising around the jaw and cheekbones.

As he saw Karys approaching, his thin mouth widened into a broad smile but his eyes showed no kindness. They were mocking and, with his gaunt features, almost gave him the appearance of delirious happiness. It was clear that he could scarcely believe his luck. His life resting in the hands of a girl just shy of her 14th birthday.

"Are you the man absconded from The Night's Watch?" Karys inquired.

"I suppose I must be." drawled the man. His accent clearly gave him away as not from the North. Karys had never travelled beyond the neck, and very few southerners made their way North, so she was not very good at recognising accents.

"Before you were sworn to The Watch, where was your home?"

"Tarbeck Hall, in the Westerlands. Where the Docks are. My father was an importer. Wines mostly. My mother was only a drinker of wine. "

"Very well. I suppose you follow The Seven?"

The man shrugged his shoulders and grimaced. "I was named in the light of The Seven, but truth be told, they never did much for me. I've not given them much thought in my life, and I don't think they gave much to me."

"In that case you wont be needing a septon to pray with you before your death. They are few and far between this far north, and can take a while to find."

The man's face almost imperceptibly fell. He obviously hadn't thought that Karys would go through with it. That she was too young and too scared to exact a capital punishment. Pretending to be religious and demanding a septon would have granted him a few extra hours of life, but it was too late now.

"Now just a minute darling," the man stuttered. "You wouldn't sentence me to death would you? A sweet young girl like you doesn't want to sentence a man to die so far from home and sodden to the bone by this damned snow. You don't even know why I left. You might change your mind."

Karys stared at him in silence. Her ice coloured eyes regarded the man who had begun to squirm in the grip of the guards. She let the silence hang in the air just a little longer as she composed her thoughts.

"No," she said quietly, "I won't"

With this the man's features contorted entirely, and he threw himself forward and spat at Karys, the gobbet of saliva landing on the skirt of her grey woollen dress.

"You little whore." he hissed. "You fucking little whore. What right do you have to take my life. If you knew why I was sent to the Watch, if you knew the things I'd done to sweet little girls like you..."

But Karys didn't listen any more. She spied a tump of earth in the middle of the snow battered landscape that would give her over a foot of extra height, and indicated to the guards to take the prisoner there. Then she turned to one of the pages,

"Please bring me Ice."

As she began to walk towards the tump, the Master-at-arms, Alric Cassel, came forward to walk beside her and murmured quietly,

"My lady, I know we have practised with the short sword and the bastard sword, but Ice is another thing altogether. It is an ancient broadsword and heavier than any weapon you have ever practised with. Are you sure you wouldn't rather have me make the swing for you."

"Your concern is appreciated, Alric, but you know that our way is the old way. The person who passes the judgement swings the sword."

Alric nodded his greying hair, and turned to tell the page to hurry up. The young man rushed forwards bearing the large broadsword in it's wolfskin sheath. Karys mounted the tump of earth and took the broadsword's heavy hilt in both hands and unsheathed it. The blade of the sword of House Stark shone in the pale winter sunlight, the Valyrian Steel rippling like molten silver. Karys rested is blade down on the earth, bringing the hilt to just under her chin as she had seen her father do. Then she began in a clear but soft voice..

"I, Karys Stark, acting warden of the North For my father Rickard Stark, according to the laws of Aemon Targaryen, Third of his name..."

The man was howling now, spitting and swearing. Karys ignored him and continued.

"...and according to the Old Ways, sentence you to die."

Karys gripped the Ice's hilt tight. Master Alric came forward and helped her lift it from the ground and he held it while she aimed. Karys could feel her arms shaking, partly from the weight of the sword, but also as if there was something coursing through her veins. Her stomach was tying itself in knots and she was acutely aware of how heavily she was breathing. The pale sun suddenly seemed too bright and she could see Benjen shifting awkwardly out the corner of her eye.

"Don't look away," she thought hard, "Don't look away."

She didn't know if she was talking to herself or to Benjen, as she fixed her eyes on the bare neck of the man in front of her. She clenched her jaw tightly, and heaved the sword over her shoulder and down towards the crouching figure...

The first thing she was aware of was the sensation of a spray of warm droplets on her face. The air suddenly smelled metallic and there was a taste of cold iron on Kary's mouth. There was a violent fountain of red coursing over the white snow,. Karys stared at the blood pumping out of the severed neck of the man who not 1 minute before had been cursing her to the seven hells and back. Now there was only silence, save for the gentle lowing of a cold northern wind. Yet she was transfixed as the blood formed rivulets in fifty different directions across the pristine snow. She hadn't even realised she had been holding her breath, but now she was breathing deeply, the metallic smell of blood filling her lungs and mind.

"Well done my lady. It was well done." said Alric Cassel, breaking the profound silence. But Karys remained motionless. He came forwards and gently prised her fingers from Ice's hilt, and repeated, "It was well done."

Karys released the sword, and stood straight, still breathing heavily. Alric took the sword very gently and handed it to the page. He then removed a piece of cloth from his doublet pocket, and offered it to Karys. At first she couldn't comprehend this action, but then she sensed the warm wetness on her brow, and took the cloth to dab at her face. She was shocked to see that it came away scarlet. A great swordsman can make a cut so clean it is almost bloodless at the first instance. Karys was no great swordsman. The swing had not been perfect. but it had achieved its objective.

Karys returned the cloth, and descended from the stump. She only then realised that the spray of blood was over her dress as well.

"Burn the body and return to Winterfell. My Brother and I will go hunting now."

She heard herself say the words, but she was not fully conscious of doing it. The only thing she was focusing on was her horse, and how all she had to do was climb on to it. Such a normal thing suddenly seemed to be a huge task.

Once she was on top of the horse she waited until she saw Benjen next to her.

"You know why I had to do it?" she asked.

"Because our ways are the old ways." he replied in a voice much hoarser than normal.

"Our ways are the old ways." Karys confirmed, and turned her horse away from the clean up happening around the body and swung her bow and arrows over her shoulder. She could hear shouts from the group, offering to accompany them, but she waved them away as she kicked her horse into a swift run.

She wasn't sure for how long she rode. Her mind could not fully comprehend the passage of time. She was dimly aware that there were two sets of hooves. Benjen must be keeping pace. She rode until the cold air stung in her chest before slowing up next to a babbling brook. Dismounting quickly, she walked to the banks of the brook, leaned over the edge of the water, and vomited. The metallic taste in her mouth was replaced by acid, along with the taste of weakness and shame. Benjen stayed on his horse and looked on in nervous silence. Karys took some of the icy water from further up the brook, and splashed it across her face and took several deep draughts from the cup of her hands. Then she knelt back on her heels, looked up at the pale sky, and gasped for air.

Drenched, and bloody she clambered back on her horse.

"Don't tell Father I was sick." she gasped. "Don't tell him, or Brandon, or Ned, Or Lyanna."

Benjen nodded dumbly, regarding his sister with a mix of concern and fear. After a while he spoke.

"Let's ride on."

They sped away across the moors, the horses' hooves pounding the earth. They rode for hours, Karys shooting arrows at makeshift targets, and Benjen chasing after rabbits. Soon the sun began to descend and the air got colder, so they began the ride back to Winterfell, racing the rapidly setting sun.

As they passed under the main entrance, the only thought Karys had was of a hot bath and hot dinner. She did not see that there were some unfamiliar faces in the stable yard, caring for unfamiliar horses. She dismounted into a pile of filthy snow. Her hair was tangled and windswept, her dress and cloak were soaked and covered in mud and blood, her pale cheeks were ripped raw by the winter air. But still, her spirits had been lifted by the ride, and the events of earlier that day were beginning to recede. It was with great surprise that she saw Maester Luwin hurrying towards her.

"There you are. We have been waiting for ages. The rest of the party arrived back hours ago." His voice was stern, but Karys could sense a hint of panic there too.

"I was hunting with my brother," Karys said, making for the doors to the great hall and removing her thick gloves. "What ever is the matter."

"Do you remember that letter that one of the guards gave me - from the man The Night's Watch? Well it's lateness was most unfortunate because it contained news of an arrival at Winterfell of a Party from the Wall who set out from the wall not too long after the ranger, and was requesting a welcome to Winterfell."

This puzzled Karys. Many of the parties of traders going too and from the wall never requested lodgings in Winterfell. They stopped in Winters Town, where the taverns and brothels provided for everything they needed. Lodgings inside Winterfell were for guests of note.

"Who in this party requests the hospitality of House Stark? And why did you need to wait for me?"

"My lady you must give them the bread and salt. I cannot do it for you as I am only a maester, not a member of House Stark. Especially when it is someone from a great house..."

Karys was completely confused as she walked into the hall. A great house? Coming from the wall? House Stark was the greatest house this far north, and any formal visit from another great house would have been arranged a long time ago so that proper festivities could be arranged. Who could it be?

Karys cast her eyes up to the great weirwood seat at the head of the hall, but she saw no one waiting there. No lord wearing an impatient and imperious expression. No party of attendants wearing house crests or banners on the walls. All she saw was a small table bearing a tray of bread and salt. She craned her neck to look around the hall, and saw no delegation. Then she saw him.

There was a chair pulled up close to the large hearth in the hall, and in it was seated the visitor. Or more correctly, that was where he reclined, as he was had sunk deep into the chair and thrown one leg over the other in a relaxed posture. He was wearing a black heavy cloak, clearly borrowed from the night's watch. Underneath this however, Karys could see the deep red lining of a sweeping tunic, edged in gold. The light of the fire cast the figure in a deep firey glow and she could see and intricately embroidered sleeve. The figure's face was obscured by the rough fur of the cloak, but the head turned and the figure languidly got to his feet. The glow of the fire made his skin seem burnished, but as languid as his movements were, his eyes were dark and intelligent, quickly making an assessment.

"My lady, our guest," murmured Maester Luwin, "Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne."


	13. Chapter 13: Supper With The Red Viper

Karys was taken aback by the Maester's statement. It knocked her off guard and she blinked, puzzled by the appearance of the Dornish prince. Oberyn, however, had swept into a low bow and said

"My lady, I hope that the appearance of me and my men at your gates does not upset you. I am making my way back to Dorne and will not trespass upon your hospitality for long. Your maester and servants have already been exceptionally welcoming."

Karys blinked rapidly, then, thinking that Oberyn would soon think of her as some kind of mute idiot capable only of communicating through blinks, she dipped into a low curtsey and replied,

"Of course not, Prince Oberyn. I, the Acting warden of the North, and Winterfell welcome you."

Maester Luwin then gently nudged her. In the time that Oberyn had introduced himself to her, the maester had retrieved the large plate of bread and salt and was now giving her a meaningful look. Quickly, Karys took the plate from his hands and proffered it to Prince Oberyn.

"As is the custom here in The North, in accordance with The Old Ways I offer you this bread and salt. Take of it, and the protection of Winterfell is yours as it has been with every guest who has done so before you."

Prince Oberyn momentarily regarded the bread and salt with an inscrutable expression, before looking back to Karys, taking a large piece, dipping it in the salt and placing it whole into his mouth.

Maester Luwin waved to the far side of the hall and a page came running forwards. Taking the plate from Karys he said,

"Find young lord Benjen, and ask him to present the bread and salt to the rest of Prince Oberyn's party. On your way out tell someone to bring more chairs and have some food and wine sent up here."

The Page nodded and at once made for the door. Almost instantly another page materialised bearing a large, comfortable chair and placed it beside the hearth, next to Oberyn's. Maester Luwin crossed the dark slate floor to retrieve a plain wooden stool that had been left in the hall. Prince Oberyn stretched out a hand towards the hearth and said to Karys,

"Would you join me by the fire? I have not yet grown accustomed to the cold here, and I am rather missing the heat of Dorne. I have already had a cup of Northern ale, but I must confess I am rather hungry after the ride from the wall."

Karys nodded her head and took a seat in the chair that had been brought in. Prince Oberyn resumed his seat, crossing one leg over the other and sinking deep into the cushioned back. He rested his arm upright and leant on his hand, staring deeply into the fire. Karys examined his sharp profile, his olive skin and dark eyes. She had never seen anyone like this at Winterfell before. The Dornish and the Northerners never had much to do with each other, being at opposite ends of Westeros. They had of course crossed in King's landing in the field of politics, and during the wars with Dorne and the Dance with Dragons, Northerners had died at the hands of the Dornish, but beyond that, the two kingdoms were mostly strangers to each other. They sometimes purchased Dornish wine, the Northerners preferred its strong flavour to that from The Reach, But Dorne had looked towards the Free Cities for a long time, and it's semi-autonomous nature meant that they were removed from Westerosi politics. Though she supposed that would change now if, as Lyanna had said, Oberyn's older sister Elia had been married to Rhaegar Targaryen.

"Why were you at the Wall, Prince Oberyn? I hadn't heard of you passing through the North on your way to visit it."

"That is because I did not pass through the North. I came from Braavos. I have been travelling through Essos and The Free Cities for a while - learning as much as I can, fighting as much as I can - when my older brother Doran told me that my sister Elia was going to marry Rhaegar Targaryen. Of course I wanted to wish my sister well and be present at the wedding, so I stopped in King's landing for the nuptials..."

Karys noticed something like a ripple across the man's face, a crease appearing at the top of his nose, between the dark eyes. It vanished quickly and he continued,

"However, I had not yet seen enough of the Kingdoms across the sea, and I resumed my travels through Pentos, Norvos, where my brother's wife is from, and finally Braavos. There I procured a boat, and headed for Eastwatch By The Sea. I could not finish my travels without seeing the only Wonder Made By Man in Westeros. I remembered reading about The Wall as a boy - so cold, and bleak, and austere, unlike anything I had seen in Dorne. I have seen the Titan of Braavos, The Three Bells of Norvos, The long bridge of Volantis, I cannot resist a new experience..."

Karys sat staring at the dorninsh prince. She was hypnotised by his words. He was describing all the great monuments she had read about in her books. The hours she had spent poring over volumes in her small room at the top of the tower, the histories, the legends - even the accounts that she regularly settled in her father's solar. All those reams of fabric, casks of ale, pelts of fur that had winged there way to those far off lands - they had seemed so far away as to be the stuff of legend themselves. But here sat a man who had seen them all. A young man at that - he could not be so much older than Brandon. He had seen them all. She was not just envious of the great monuments he had seen, but just the chance to walk those streets, to taste their food.

As he told her of the many things he had seen for sale on The Long Bridge, she sat transfixed by the tale of tattooed slaves, colourful birds, and exotic spices. As much as the words, she liked listening to the rise and fall of his dornish accent. She had never heard a dornish accent before - although she dealt with accounts, she never talked to the traders themselves, and she had never met anyone from the noble families of Dorne before. She had read in many books that some in Westeros found the accent incomprehensible, but she enjoyed the cadence and unusual stresses he placed on words. The rhoynish lilt that Nymeria had left in her subjects made the story he was telling her seem even more North was not exactly the most well spoken of the kingdoms, and she knew that many southerners found their coarse accent a source of much amusement. Her brothers, despite their noble blood, were almost indistinguishable from a tavern landlord or farmer. She and Lyanna however, had had the Northern accent drilled out of them. One of the many pains, such as sewing and courtly dancing that the sisters had been required to endure as part of their father's quest to make them acceptable to southron lords. That's not to say that they couldn't muster a northern accent - when sufficiently angered Lyanna in particular could growl and curse as well as any of their brothers in a rough tone.

As Prince Oberyn finished telling her a tale of how he won the weight of an elephant in cinnamon during a game of dice, two pages arrived bringing a large plate of cold roasted meat, bread, soup, and a large jug of wine.

"Ah, here we are Prince Oberyn," exclaimed Maester Luwin, "something to eat."

Karys nearly fell from her chair. She had been so absorbed in Oberyn's story that she had completely forgotten that the maester was there next to them, on his bare wooden stool.

"Excellent." said Prince Oberyn, a wide smile spreading across his face.

"I'm sure it's not as exciting as the foods you have tasted in your travels, Prince Oberyn." Karys murmured.

"Not at all." Prince Oberyn replied. "I love food in all its forms. All food has its place and reflects the culture it is from. This looks good and hearty to me. Is that boar meat?"

"Yes, the hunters brought it in fresh this morning" said Maester Luwin. "Don't set a place for me, " he continued addressing the page who was laying down a third knife and fork, "I must go see when young Lord Benjen has got to." And with that he departed the hall, the two pages trailing behind him. Then it was just Karys and Prince Oberyn left by the fire in the Great Hall.

For a while Karys said nothing, allowing Prince Oberyn to enjoy his meal and sate his obvious hunger as she pushed a chunk of potato around in her soup. Then summoning her courage she leant forward a little and said in a voice so soft it was only just above a whisper,

"Where did you go after Volantis?"

Swallowing his mouthful of bread and reaching for a wine cup he replied " to the island of Lys."

"And what did you do there?" she said, a hint of eagerness in her voice.

At this Prince Oberyn paused, the wine cup still on his lips, and his sharp eyes darted towards her. His gaze ran over her, and Karys felt as though he was assessing her for something, but did not know what. The, very slowly and precisely, he placed the cup back on the table. Then he moved, just as slowly and precisely again, until he had turned in his chair and, leaning on his hand, was able to look directly at her. His face was so close that Karys could see that there was almost no difference between the pupil and iris of his eyes, that they were just dark pools. There was also a scent of exotic spices emanating from his clothes. In a voice as soft as hers, but lower and with a gentle lilt he asked,

"How old are you, exactly?"

Karys tilted her head, confused. "I will have my fourteenth name day in three days time" she said, perplexed.

Prince Oberyn's lips twitched upwards in amusement and leaning back he said "then you are a little too young to hear all my stories."

Karys bristled at this and she was about to say something to the Prince as he lifted the cup to his lips once more when the doors to the hall opened and Maester Luwin returned, Benjen and servants in tow. Benjen sped up and marched straight up to Prince Oberyn's chair and made a deep but faltering bow and introduced himself in a voice slightly higher than normal.

"I am Benjen Stark, youngest child of Rickard Stark, Warden of the North. It is a pleasure to meet you, Prince Oberyn."

The gesture was practiced, but obviously childish. Benjen was now rooted to the spot staring at Prince Oberyn, trying to maintain an air of formality, but his child-like nervousness hovering under the surface. Prince Oberyn put his cup down and rose out of his chair in one movement. He turned to Benjen and made a very deep bow to him - it was almost theatrical.

"Lord Benjen. I am honoured to meet you. I am Prince Oberyn of House Martell. I know your father is away, but I am gratified to see that you and your sister are managing the business of your Kingdom so well. Tell me were those your I saw in the stable yard?"

It was clear to Karys that Oberyn was putting on a show, but it was entirely for Benjen's benefit, not at his expense. By addressing Bejen as if he were a full grown lord and engaging him on a topic he enjoyed, Prince Oberyn was putting Benjen at ease. It was an extraordinarily compassionate gesture for the older and higher ranking man to make. Benjen's face had brightened, and he quickly continued,

"They're not all mine, but they do belong to Winterfell. My Horse is the black one with the white star on his forehead. I call him Ranger, because he goes long distances all in black like the rangers of The Night's watch."

"You know I have ridden with a ranger beyond the wall, so I can confirm that that is a fine name for a fine animal. I adore horses. I have a whole stable full in Dorne - but they are mostly our sand steeds who are much smaller than your Northern steeds. I have never seen horses so large and strong before. Would you show me Ranger, up close?"

"Yes of course. Would you like to ride one? You can have my brother Brandon's horse he is even bigger..."

"That sounds wonderful, but first..." Prince Oberyn turned back to Karys. "My lady, thank you for your excellent company whilst I ate. I hope to see you after I take a ride."

"Of course Prince Oberyn," Karys replied. "I shall have the servants prepare quarters for you and your companions. The hospitality of Winterfell is yours."

"You are most gracious my lady." Prince Oberyn said, as he made a quick bow and flashed a wide smile at her before turning on the heel of his boot and following Benjen out of the door. Karys instructed the servants to start preparing rooms. She then made to leave for her Father's solar and the unfinished accounts.

"My lady. May I say something?"

"Yes Maester Luwin?"

"You have done very well, accepting such a high ranking guest to Winterfell. Prince Oberyn is from one of the most noblest houses in Westeros, and the favour of Sunspear is hard to come by north of the Red Mountains - any diplomacy achieved here is surely in Winterfell's favour. But I must issue caution when dealing with Oberyn and with House Martell."

"I will not hold any man who comes to my house under guest right in suspicion, Maester Luwin."

"I did not say suspicion, my lady, I said caution. Prince Oberyn is a prince, and he has all the characteristics of a prince - charm, elegance, manners. He is exceptionally intelligent and well educated. But he is also known as the Red Viper, and that is not name one comes by lightly. Knighthood may not be well respected here in North as we hold no allegiance with The Seven, but Prince Oberyn was to train as a knight and take holy vows. His Brother sent him to squire with the Yronwoods, but that arrangement crumbled when he was found in bed with Lord Yronwoods wife and paramour. When challenged to duel to first blood, and though both were wounded Lord Yronwoods wounds festered and he died. That is why he has been travelling all this time in Essos, it was not a whim but on his brother's orders. No-one dares call it exile, but that is what it was - Prince Doran did it to punish him, and to protect him. He has trained at the citadel and my sources say that he has forged six links of a chain - including one in poison. Gods know what poisons or dark arts he has learnt in Essos. He has a reputation for violence and hedonism that precedes him wherever he goes and he leave chaos, broken hearts and blood in his wake. They say that all Dornishmen are snakes and the Martells are the worst of them - so keep your wits about you my lady, and do not be deceived by appearances. Consider House Stark's reputation."

Karys paused a while. She did not look at the maester, but at the empty air where prince Oberyn had left the room. "They may say Dornishmen are snakes, but south of the neck they call us Northerners wolves. Here in the North, where the weather is cold and blood freezes, who do you think will survive - the wolves or the snakes? I am always thinking of House Stark's reputation, and of our advantage."

She sighed deeply, hoping her efforts would have pleased her father. She ran a hand over her hair and she felt it stiff and matted. She had forgotten to make herself presentable after this morning's execution. Her hair was windblown and there was still a spry of mud and blood over her dress. She had been in this state of disarray for the whole of her time with Prince Oberyn. What must he have thought of her? How stupid could she have been? She hastened up to her chambers calling to her servants to run her a bath.

When she had bathed and changed her clothes she sat down in her Father's solar with the accounts. However, instead of arranging the accounts or replying to the letters from other Northern houses she took out her parchment and ink and wrote a letter to Ned, detailing everything that had happened that day.


	14. Chapter 14: Taking A Hit

Three days later Karys woke to fresh sprinkling of powder across the grounds of Winterfell, covering the remains of the last snowfall which had become grey and sullied from all the activity in the stable yard. Two days earlier the white raven had arrived from the Citadel at Kings Landing and Winter had officially come to Westeros, though the Northerners had known that for a long time. Whilst now it was bearable, it would only get colder and the snows heavier from now on. Karys squinted her eyes, adjusting to the light of the winter sun, it's pale light redoubled in brightness as it reflected off the now white roofs of the keep. She pulled the blankets up over her nose and buried herself deep in the pillow. Today was her 14th name day.

There were no great plans for the day. The start of winter festival was in a few days and there was no point wasting any expense on her name day, especially when most of the family was absent. Karys was hoping to put aside most of her work, spending less time with the accounts in her father's solar, and go out for a long ride by herself later. Or maybe with Benjen.

As if he had heard her thinking his name...

*BANG*

Benjen burst through the door, an excited Frost jumping around his feet.

"Happy Nameday Karys!" He shouted as he jumped onto her bed. "Happy..."

Benjen's shout was completely lost as the overexcited wolf also jumped onto the bed and on top of the siblings. Coughing and spluttering as he tried to get a large clump of tail hair out of his mouth, Benjen shouted,

"Gerroff meeee. GERROFF FROST!" Then both of them went tumbling to the floor. Karys hid her face under the blankets until she heard the scrabbling subside. Peeking out, she saw Benjen squirming on the floor as the increasingly large wolf, now almost fully grown, licked the boy's face.

"Frost, down." she said softly, and the wolf instantly backed away.

"Thank you," Benjen said, clambering to his feet. "I just wanted to bring you your present," and he held out a cloth bound bundle that he had been holding close to his chest as the wolf had attacked him.

Karys took the bundle and opened it. Inside was a new quiver of arrows. Judging by the design on the front and the slightly rough tips of the arrows, Benjen had helped make them himself. They would perhaps not be the most effective weapons, but the gesture was very sweet.

"Thank you Benjen. I love them."

Benjen gave her a wide grin. At that moment a servant knocked at the door and a large tray of food was brought in - enough for both of the siblings to share. So Karys arose from the bed, threw a ward dressing gown around her shoulders and settled down to breakfast.

When they had both finished, Benjen grudgingly departed her chambers to attend a class of High Valyrian with the Maester. As she was far more advanced in the language than Benjen, Karys was not obliged to go, so she dressed in rough leathers, pulled her hair into a braided knot, and headed for the training yard, asking a servant in the hallway to send for Dalla Mormont to train with her.

Dalla had previously been Lyanna's handmaiden, but since her betrothal to Robert Baratheon their father had decided that she required a more ladylike principle handmaiden. The position had therefore gone to Wyllow Manderly. House Manderly had it's origins in The Reach, and as such they followed customs and behaviours and customs more like those found amongst the Southron lords and they were the most noble house in the North to show adherence to The Faith of The Seven rather than the Old Gods. Thus Rickard Stark had decided that Wyllow would be able to help Lyanna refine her behaviours to help her acclimatise to life as the mistress of Storm's End. Dalla Mormont, who only ever wore breeches and a tunics, carried a hand axe on each hip, and was almost as tall as Ned, had passed to Karys.

Karys and Lyanna had previously shared their handmaidens who included a few girls from around Winterfell, a Karstark girl by the name of Briget who could sew almost as well as Karys and could flirt even more than Lyanna (she hand hinted that she had already bedded the baker's assistant), and Aregelle Cerwyn who could dance like the wind, but was a terrible rider. Briget and Aregelle, having been deemed acceptable by Rickard, had gone with Lyanna to the Riverlands leaving Karys with Dalla and the two girls from the countryside.

Karys liked Dalla, who was the second sister of Lord Jeor Mormont. She was much younger than Lord Jeor and their sister Maege, and was in fact closer in age to her eldest niece by Maege than her sister. But she had an excellent sense of humour, referring to herself as her mother's "last hurrah." She didn't care about her lack of elegance, as elegance was in short supply in The North and in Karys' opinion there was no point in pretending otherwise. Dalla like to laugh and she liked to fight. Furthermore, like the rest of House Mormont, Dalla was fiercely loyal to House Stark. Her lust for fighting had made her an excellent sparring partner for Lyanna and Karys when their father had permitted them to train with weapons. Lyanna and Dalla would spar for hours with blunted bastard swords, thrashing and hacking at each other until they were black and blue. Lyanna had become quite the swords-woman, but Dalla was an excellent shield-maiden and could even deflect blows from the Master at Arms.

Karys was not as good with a sword as Lyanna or Dalla, but she made a valiant effort and was not so terrible. But her strength was the bow, and she was able to hit a target as well as any of her father's bannermen. Of course, she also carried her silver dagger with her most of the time and, with her knowledge of anatomy from her healing lessons with the Maester, she was sure she knew exactly where it could cause the most damage. Not that she had ever made a serious lethal attempt with it. Not yet. And as for the box of herbs and plants that she kept in her room hidden at the top of the tower... well the possibilities of that shouldn't even be contemplated.

Dalla was already waiting for her when she reached the training yard, sitting on a roughly hewn stump, two training swords by her side, one hand axe in its hip holster and the other in her hand as she sharpened its blade. Like Karys, she was dressed in leathers, which was the preferred armour in the North when combined with mail, setting the northern warriors apart from plate wearing southerners.

The leathers a female warrior wore included leather trousers overlaid with knee high leather boots. The top consisted of a leather and cloth mixed long-sleeved tunic that reached to the mid-thigh. Under this, a mail shirt over which a bodice or belt could be worn, often depicting the woman's house sigil or an elaborate pattern. There were some differences, the Umber women often preferred more metalwork, including heavy greaves and vambraces, whilst the armour of a Bolton woman was usually much lighter and favoured leather over metal for speed. Many warrior women favoured braided hairstyles, that sometimes included metalwork or leather straps. This sometimes made wearing a helmet difficult, and the bravest (or most foolhardy) went without the protection. Though in theory any Northern woman could take up arms, some houses favoured the practice more than others. Nearly all the women of House Mormont were handy with one weapon or another, whilst House Manderly never dreamt of putting a sword in the hands of their women.

Dalla rose to her feet when she caught sight of Karys and her face split into a wide grin.

"Good morning, Karys. Many happy returns on your nameday. How has your morning been so far?"

"Aside from my brother nearly being eaten by Frost, uneventful."

Dalla let out a great snort of laughter, and passed one of the swords to Karys. She then walked to the centre of the practice area, which had been hastily cleared of snow, and adopted a fighting stance. While she waited for Karys to prepared herself she said,

"Well I've had a most eventful morning, seen all sorts of things."

Karys positioned herself opposite Dalla and struck a gentle first blow as a warm up. She didn't say anything, but raised her eyebrows as an indication that the older girl should continue the conversation.

"You will never guess who I saw in the hallway wearing nothing but a bed sheet..."

*Thwump* - Dalla returned the blow, with slightly more force. Again, Karys said nothing, but gave a small shrug to show she had no idea.

"You know that Serving girl Alyson? The one who has had huge breasts since the hour she turned thirteen years? Her. In nothing but a sheet, and guess where she was leaving? Only the quarters you provided for Prince Oberyn and his company. She wasn't alone either..."

*tock-tack-thump* - Karys parried Dalla's next move, and landed a blow on her left arm. They were picking up speed now. Dalla continued,

"Well I was pleasently amused to see that young man Raurri. You know the one - he hauls the ale barrels at the tavern in Winter's town. Well he was also trying to make a hasty exit. He had his overshirt, but nothing on his lower half. He was trying to put on his trousers whilst running down the hall."

Dalla laughed uproariously again. They were picking up speed now and were thrusting and parrying at fair speed. Dalla was landing more attacks than Karys, but Karys was holding her own.

"I suppose we should have expected it," Dalla said once she had stopped laughing. "All the rumours say that Prince Oberyn beds with men and women. I hear it's not so uncommon in Dorne."

Karys shrugged again and "I don't see anything wrong with it. I think the other kingdoms look down on it so because the Faith of The Seven is so against it." Then she wiped the beads of sweat that were forming on her brow before the could freeze in the bitter air.

"Oh for sure," Dalla said, waving her hand in a careless gesture. "When you're that obsessed with maidenhood, motherhood, and blacksmiths, its bound to get you all worked up about whose genitals are doing what to make one into another. Not that I understand where the blacksmith comes into it... No, no - nothing wrong with it in my view - I don't care who is doing what with whom. I just think it's funny because I remember him making such a show of himself to all the girls at the last Harvest feast. Do you remember how Lyanna and Briget were almost at war over who was going to claim him first? And how they kept trying to grab his arse? Can you imagine how disappointed they will be when they come back and discover that after all their flirting he's gone off with a Dornish prince? Hah, maybe that will put them in their place for a bit..."

Karys joined in the laughter this time. Dalla continued to relate all the things she had seen around the castle since the arrival of Prince Oberyn and his company. It seemed Alyson and Raurri were not the only youths who had been seen around the Prince's chambers. Karys was amused by this, but also sightly concerned. She was inexperienced with sex, but she was very aware of the negative effects it could have. When Brandon was residing at Winterfell, there had been a few scuffles between jealous serving girls that had to be quashed before the kitchen became a battle ground. She hoped the visitors to Prince Oberyn's bed wouldn't disturb the peace like that.

There was also something else bothering her, something that squirmed in her centre when she connected the thoughts of the many young northerners, Prince Oberyn and his bed. She didn't know what it was but it felt hot and wet like blood, but it had teeth and growled like an animal. It turned over inside her, constricting her stomach and hips and wrapping itself around the base of her spine. It felt so physical that she was momentarily distracted when...

*wham*

One of Dalla's swings with the blunted sword caught her in the side of the stomach and Karys hit the dirt with a crunch. Dalla imediately rushed forward and, grasping the top of Kary's arm with great strength, hauled up the smaller girl.

"Karys, I'm sorry. What happened, one minute you were in the flow, then..."

Karys quickly tried to dust herself down. She wasn't sure what had happened, but she could feel the bruise on her side forming already. She pressed her hand to her side gingerly, wincing. Aside from the throbbing pain, the only other thing she could feel was her cheeks burning. Whether this was from her embarrassment at falling or from the thoughts that had been in her head, she couldn't tell.

Quickly she pushed Dalla away and asked her to return to her position. As she prepared herself to resume the fight she cast her eyes around the practice yard. She stopped dead. It was as if she had been hit in the side again. On the balcony that jutted out from the first floor and overlooked the yard stood Prince Oberyn. He had been watching the fight, gods only knew for how long. He was eating an apple as he leant on the balcony rail and for the briefest moment, his sharp, dark eyes met Karys' gaze. His face remained impassive as he chewed on his mouthful. Karys quickly looked straight down at the ground on the pretence of perfecting her stance, all the while praying to The Old Gods for the ground to open up and swallow her. Without daring to look in his direction again she called for Dalla to bring her shield this time, to work on defence.

Karys and Dalla continued their practice until midday. Sword, shield, axe - Karys put all her energy into the fight. By the time they were done, she was drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. She looked around the yard, but Prince Oberyn was gone, when and where she had no idea.

"I'm famished," Dalla said. "Are you coming inside for a bite?"

"No." Karys said as she removed her thick leather bodice and the mail shirt underneath. "I think I'll go out for a ride." As a page ran forward to collect her things she asked for some food to be placed in a bag and brought around to the stables. When she had reached the stables herself, she began saddling her horse and searching for a thick cloak to wear on the ride. She threw the quiver of arrows that Benjen had made her over her back and fastened the belt that held her dagger around her hips. A sudden movement grazed the back of her legs and she turned to see Frost pad lightly into the stable.

"Are you going to come with me?" Karys murmured, scratching the wolf under the chin. Frost's eyes closed lazily, and her left ear twitched. Karys patted the top of the densely furred head and said "well, we'd better go if we want to get in a good ride before sunset." and she hauled herself on to her horse and trotted out of the stable and out of the gates into the winter wilderness beyond.

As soon as she was clear of the boundary of Winterfell she kicked her horse into a racing speed and they flew across the snowy ground, Frost bounding alongside. She kept up this pace for a long time, feeling the cold air sting her cheeks. They left the main path, and headed over the frozen moorland with its rocky outcrops, towards a dense patch of woodland. Here she dismounted and, leading the horse by the reins, walked along the edge of the forest towards a small stream and a large flat rock upon which she could sit. Once settled, she opened the packet of food that had been prepared for her and started rifling through the contents. She picked out an apple, which she fed to her horse, and some of yesterday's boar, which she threw high in the air for Frost to catch. Once both animals had been given something, Karys settled down to a large chunk of dark bread and salty goat cheese.

As she chewed her food, her eyes began scanning the banks of the river for potentially useful plants. There was nothing particularly special, but just running through their names was incredibly soothing. The list of names was the only thing in her head, and she didn't have to think of anything else. Nobody was demanding anything of her, there were no columns of numbers to check, no one accosting her in a hallway to get permission or bend her ear over something. She wasn't wondering where Benjen had got to, she wasn't being lectured by the maester, and she wasn't worried that Prince Oberyn was about to pop up out of nowhere and make her curtsey and put on the performance of hospitality.

This last thought made her shift slightly on the rock. She knew she was no great performer, she lacked Brandon and Lyanna's natural effervescence and charm. Whenever their father held festivals for the Northern Lords at Harvest or the Spring equinox, Brandon and Lyanna made it their business to be at the centre of the celebrations, laughing and joking with everyone. Benjen was usually either sent to bed early by their Father or made himself scarce in the grounds or in the less populated areas of the castle. Meanwhile she would sit with Ned and watch the festivities from the sidelines. Together they would watch the rest of the guests drink and become increasingly wild, as they put their heads together guessing who would end up in the bed of whom, or who would be the first to embarrass themselves. It was from the sidelines where you could learn the most about the ways in which people operated, what they wanted, and what their intentions were. So to be thrust into the centre of attention and have to perform for Prince Oberyn and, come the Winter festival in a few days time, for her Father's Northern lords and banner-men made Karys deeply uncomfortable. She wanted to go back to the sidelines. Or even better, she wanted to go far away from the life of a noble woman, across the sea where no-one knew who she was.

Karys sighed and resolved to do the best that she could. Most of her Father's banner men had known her since she was a babe in arms, and they would never mock her efforts out of loyalty to her father. Of that, she was sure. She was not so sure of Prince Oberyn and his bizarre troupe of dornishmen and exotic characters from Essos. As she thought about Prince Oberyn, she once again felt that strange sensation low down in her body. Even though there was no-one around she could feel her face growing hot. Half angry and half ashamed, she threw the last morsel of bread at Frost whose jaws snapped at the air excitedly.

She was being ridiculous. Prince Oberyn was eight years older than her, even older than Brandon. From what she had seen during his stay at Winterfell he was not the sort of man who respected the courtly values of marriage and pitching woo. And if what Maester Luwin kept repeating to her was true, his reputation made him an entirely unsuitable match for any of the fine ladies of Westeros, despite his station as the brother of the future queen. Besides, a quiet, inexperienced little girl like her - he could probably barely distinguish her from the flat tapestries that hung in his chamber wall. But still, something in the way he moved, in the stories he told, and even in his reputation made Karys burn just to think about.

Furious with herself for this confused state of emotions, she went to the bank and began hacking at a clump of Septa's Hood that she had spied in the mud with her dagger. Suddenly a noise from deep inside the forest made her look up. Something large and heavy was lumbering through the trees, a low pitiful groan coming from its lips.

Karys gradually got to her feet. Behind her, the horse stamped on the ground nervously. Frost moved to her lefthand side, her body slung low to the ground a faint growl shaking her haunches. Whatever was in the forest was coming closer and closer. Karys pocket the plats she had collected and raised her dagger before her, knowing that it would probably be useless against whatever was coming.

Slowly, achingly, the creature emerged from the forest's edge and hauled itself towards the water. It was a juvenile stag that had been left behind as the herds had moved to winter grazing. Its whole body was gouged and scratched. Some of it may have come from wolves or bears, the big predators in The Wolfswood, but some of the damage could have been done by its own kind - the heavy antlers were powerful weapons. The sides and haunches were shredded and blood that must have been several days old matted the fur. One eye was so swollen that it could not see out, and Karys judged from the way it was limping that the left hind leg must be broken. fresh blood was running from the root of one severely damaged antler and as the animal bent to take some of the icy water, several drops fell into the crystal clear stream. Karys suddenly remembered a similar scene that she had seen in her visions for many years now. The thought disturbed her deeply.

The creature must be desperate to come to the stream, when a human and a wolf were so obviously present. It was in agony, and beyond help. Karys gently backed away from the animal towards her steed. Very gently, because the horse was still pawing the ground nervously, she lifted her weirwood bow from the saddle. The stag took no no notice, it was in too much main and too focused on the water to pay her any attention. Quietly and subtly she drew an arrow from the quiver and bent the bow. Under her breath she muttered a prayer in old tongue to the old gods, then she released.

The arrow went straight through the neck of the beast, hitting the large artery in the side of the neck. In a spray of blood the animal crashed to its knees with a low moan. Quickly she loaded another arrow and released, hitting the same area again. The stag collapsed to the ground and gave a few last gurgling breaths..

Karys looked at the body of the animal, steam rising from the hot blood pouring from the neck into the bitter winter air. Something about the animal had perturbed her, but she knew why she had done what she had done. The animal was dying anyway, she had just helped it on its way. Better a quick sure death than lingering on in agony. She looked at Frost how was still locked in a hunting position.

"If you want to." she said quietly.

At this Frost bounded forwards and sank her jaws deep into the animal's neck. Hot red blood stained her jaws, and as she sank her face into the throat of the animal, tearing ti apart, the blood stained the white fur further, giving the wolf a bloody mask. Karys watched the wolf tear the animal apart for a while before turning to her horse and placing the bow back on the saddle.

She hauled herself once again into the saddle and looked around her. The sun was already getting low in the sky, and by the time they returned to Winterfell it would be evening, and they would be stoking the fires around the castle. She gave a whistle and Frost raised her bloodied face.

"Let's go." Karys said, kicking the horse into a run. Frost followed the tracks of the horse, leaving a trail of scarlet paw prints on the snow.


	15. Ch15: You must have ice in your veins

Karys rode in under the gates of Winterfell and towards the stables. Several faces in the yard did a double take at the sight of Frost's bloodstained face, but no-one had time to say anything. The Northerners were a hardy folk, and despite Frost's ever increasing size, her face was so familiar around Winterfell that none of the locals felt too much alarm. The same could not be said of a Tyroshi swordsman and a Dornish spearman who had accompanied Prince Oberyn to the keep. The Tyroshi fell off the wooden bench he was sitting on into a pile of fresh horse manure at the sight of Frost's bloody maw, and the Dornishman had turned on his heel and left, barely a minute after entering the yard.

Karys swung down from her steed and handed the reigns to a stableboy before summoning Frost to her. Bending down, she scooped up a pail of soapy water that was being used to clean up some new horses in the yard, all belonging to guests for the Winter Festival. Frost made a disgruntled growl in her throat.

"Sorry, girl," Karys said, "But there's nothing to be done about it. You can't stay looking like that."

And with that she threw the warm soapy water over the wolf's face. Frost let out a little yelp before bursting into a sneezing fit. Laughing, Karys reached out and rubbed the worst of the blood and suds off Frost's face before shaking her hand dry and heading towards the main keep. She wanted to take a bath herself.

After soaking a while in a steaming bath, filled with dried lavender and feverfew she had picked in the spring, Karys dressed herself in one of her simple grey gowns. Although it was a special day for her she saw no reason to parade herself when she was only walking around the castle.

Pulling her hair back into a knot, she left her bedroom and skipped down the stairs. She avoided the main hall and took a narrow passage to the other side of the keep. She didn't want to be seen by too many people, or she would surely be burdened with some task or another. She had decided to spend some time in the Glass Gardens, wandering around in the warm heat and checking on the flowers and vegetables that grew there during the colder months.

As she approached the large heavy doors that sealed the Glass Gardens , she felt a waft of warm, moist air. When she came close she realised that one of the doors was slightly ajar, as if someone had not closed it properly. She pushed against it, and entered the Gardens. The heat hit her like a physical barrier and pressed against her face like warm hands on her cheeks.

The Glass Gardens were heated by the hot water springs that bubbled under the Castle. The warm moist heat created the perfect conditions to grow all kinds of plants that would otherwise be difficult to come by in the North. A few chairs and tables had been placed around the gardens, allowing visitors to bask in the warmth. Sometimes the maester sent some of the older servants down here to cure their aches and pains. Karys remembered with sudden sadness how her mother had been brought here in the weeks before she died, everyone hoping that the heat would chase away the chills that had overtaken her body.

Karys wandered amongst the plants, letting her fingers trail over the petals of flowers that would have perished in the icy air outside. She turned over ripening vegetables that would be used in the upcoming feast, checking for blemishes. The smell of warm air and damp soil mingled to create a soporific vapour. Overpowered by the vapour, Karys settled herself into one of the chairs, leaning backwards with her face towards the glass roof. The Sun was already setting and it threw spears of orange and red through the darkening grey sky. On the other side of the keep she could hear the main gates being opened and voices raised in welcome.

For the last few days, many had arrived at Winterfell. Lords from across the North were gathering for the Start of Winter Festival, and with them came their wives and children, their servants and guards. Soon all of them would rally in and around the hall, each Lord coming forward to pledge his fidelity to House Stark, as their bannermen had done for centuries. Ashwood, Bolton, Cerwyn, Dustin, Glover, Karstark, Manderly, Reed... names and sigils rolled around in Karys' head. She would be expected to know each lord or lady that approached her, their spouse, their heir, their castle... Karys groaned as she imagined making a fool of herself in front of the whole North.

A burst of laughter from nearby alerted Karys that someone was near the gardens. Perhaps it was a servant sent by Maester Luwin to request her presence in the hall. Maybe she needed to greet another bannerman. All Karys wanted was some peace and quiet. Quickly and quietly she lifted herself from the chair and made a dash for the doors on the other side of the garden. Once she passed through them she pressed them closed as quietly as she could before hurrying lightly towards a set of winding passages at the back of the castle. Up a narrow spiral staircase, down a lefthand side passage then a right, one more flight of stairs. Karys nipped her way through the keep until she arrived back in her quarters.

It was clear that since she had left, someone had been in there to clean. The bath and its contents had been removed and the dirty clothes taken away. Her dressing table and trinkets had been arranged and her leather belt, dagger, and other items had been carefully laid on the bed. Any moment a serving girl could come back and catch Karys in her attempted escape. Making a hasty decision, Karys grabbed the pouch of herbs and set off again, this time heading for her solar in the tower. True she had not collected many herbs whilst on her ride, but the meagre twigs were at least a pretext to delay whatever task she would be requested to perform.

Taking the stairs two at a time she ascended to the top of the tower and hurriedly threw open the door to the solar, raced inside and pushed the door closed, leaning her back against it, panting. She had done it. She had made it up here with no-one seeing her.

"Are you quite alright?"

Karys nearly jumped out of her skin. She had never thought that someone else would be here. She looked up in shock to see the languid figure of Oberyn Martell relaxing in one of the soft chairs by the fire. On his knee was resting a large book, one of her compendiums of Northern legends. He was wearing a thick tunic that reached down to his mid calf, burnished orange in colour. One eyebrow was raised half questioningly and half in amusement. He raised a hand and rubbed his short but not so well kept beard as he tried to suppress a chuckle and continued,

"Have I missed the castle being under siege? Or are you running from some persistent suitor? I have heard you are not so fond of proposals."

Karys' head shot back like she had been slapped and before she could arrange her face and control her emotions she snapped,

"Where did you hear that?"

It was very impolite. She shouldn't have addressed anyone in such a way, least of all a Prince. Almost instantly she could feel the colour rising in her cheeks, hot and revealing. However, rather than being affronted, Prince Oberyn's amusement increased and he grinned at her widely, obviously pleased to have provoked a reaction.

"Oh some of your servants can be quite the conversationalists, when they are in the right mood. I have heard all about how you chased away the prize rose of Highgarden."

"They really shouldn't say such things. The incident with Mace Tyrell was a misunderstanding. I was very unwell and was not in control of myself..I...I wish they hadn't told you about that."

The heat in her cheeks increased and something else started to tighten around her throat like a strong hand - humiliation. She could feel a pricking at the corner of her eyes as tears of boiling embarrassment began to well in her lower lids. She tried to breathe deeply and control her emotions, desperately looking away from Prince Oberyn, as she feared making eye contact with him would make everything worse.

"That's a shame." Prince Oberyn said. His voice was softer, as though he could sense that he had caused her some hurt. As if to break the tension in the room he looked away from her and snapped the book on his lap shut and rose to put it on the large stack of books that had been left haphazard on the floor. As he did so he continued, "I appreciate anyone who can put those Tyrells in their place. They may act like innocent flowers, but they've got thorns as sharp as any rose and they just love putting them under everyone else's skin. Plus they walk around as though their shit smells like the roses they cover their castles with, if you will forgive my language."

Regaining her composure, Karys straightened a little and said, "Of course the Tyrells are not so in love with the Dornish either. You raided through the Marches for centuries, even sacking Oldtown once."

Prince Oberyn looked at her intently, his eyebrow once again raised in amusement as he sauntered closer to her. In a deep voice, soft as the hiss of the viper he was named for he replied, "I never denied that. Unlike the Tyrells, I never pretend to be any less than I am or my people are. If it wasn't for the Peace of the Seven Kingdoms that my brother is so eager to uphold, now my sister is in line to be queen, I dare say many Dornish would still be raiding the Reach, and the Stormlands too."

"That would be a rash and foolish thing to do." Karys scoffed.

Prince Oberyn gave a small shrug and a smirk. "We are a hot blooded people in Dorne. Quick to anger and slow to forgive, and we do not rest easy under this 'peace' we have adopted under the command of the Iron Throne. Why should we? There are no Dornish swords in the Iron Throne... but there is a skull of a dragon in the crypts of Sunspear, alongside the bones of Rhaenys Targaryen."

"That is just a story. You don't really have the bones of Meraxes or Rhaenys in your crypts."

Oberyn half sat, half leant lightly on the edge of her work bench, directly opposite from her, his arms and ankles crossed. He was still smirking, He slowly bent forward, until his dark pools of eyes were level with Karys' own and said again in that low voice, that almost dripped in danger, "Are you sure that its just a story?"

Karys said nothing. The Battles of Aegon the Conqueror were the things of legend. Stories 300 years old filled with Dragons and magic, things that no longer existed in their world. She remembered her father telling her from a very young age about how King Torrhen had bent the knee to protect the Northerners from the fate that had befallen the Lannisters and the Gardeners on the Field of Fire. How he had surrendered the crown of the North. Her father had always said that this was the perfect example of how the Starks had ruled the North. The Starks took the humiliation, the sacrifice and the loss of station to protect the North, and the North repaid them with loyalty. The Targaryen wars with Done had been more explosive and dramatic, but they had always seemed so much further away, more the stuff of legends than the stories of Torrhen. Intrigue and deception under the hot Dornish sun, abandoned cities and a dragon falling from the sky - they might have been stories from across the Narrow Sea they were so foreign to her. But it could be possible that the bones of one of Aegon's sister-wives still lay in the crypts of Sunspear. Did the King and Queen think about that when they married their son to Oberyn's sister?

The doubt must have flickered across her face, because Prince Oberyn's smile widened as though satisfied by a small victory.

"Story or not, I would not expect the brother of the future queen to talk so boldly of breaking the peace between the seven kingdoms. It is almost scandalous..."

"I would have thought that a Northerner such as yourself would not think so ill of me for that," Oberyn interjected, straightening himself up again, entirely unruffled.

"Why would you think such a thing?" Karys asked defiantly.

Prince Oberyn cocked his head and one side and regarded her with another one of his infuriatingly amused looks before he spoke.

"When I was younger and studying at the citadel, I read many books about the seven kingdoms and their history. Most of the maesters were rather scathing about the Dornish, we do not send many young boys to the citadel so we are severely under-represented. As you have so elegantly pointed out my lady, we used to be more likely to send raiders than scholars. But there was one - Archmaester Bude who grew up in the Shadow City under Sunspear, and he said that even though they lie at opposite ends of Westeros, Dorne shares more with the North than any of the other kingdoms in-between.

Oberyn closed his eyes and began to recite the words Archmaester Bude had written:

"One is hot and one is cold, yet these ancient kingdoms of sand and snow are set apart from the rest of Westeros by history, culture, and tradition. Both are thinly peopled, compared to the lands betwixt. Both cling stubbornly to their own laws and their own traditions. Neither was ever truly conquered by the dragons. The King in the North accepted Aegon Targaryen as his overlord peaceably, whilst Dorne resisted the might of the Targaryens valiantly for almost two hundred years, before finally submitting to the Iron Throne through marriage. Dornishmen and Northmen alike are derided as savages by the ignorant of the five "civilised" kingdoms, and celebrated for their valour by those who have crossed swords with them."

Prince Oberyn opened his eyes and looked searchingly at Karys before speaking again.

"Since I read that I have often wondered... In Dorne, we often boast that there are no Dornish swords in the Iron Throne but I do not know whether there are any Northern swords either. Did Aegon take the swords of the Northmen or not?"

Karys was taken aback by the question. Prince Oberyn was a learned man, much older than her, but he was addressing her as an equal. She swallowed and thought about her answer before she gave it.

"Well some say he did, some say he didn't. Some say he "took" our swords only metaphorically, meaning he took the Northern fealty. Others say that he took our swords but because he did not defeat us in battle, they were not put into the throne. We certainly kept our Valyrian steel sword Ice. That was never taken or melted down, and remains with House Stark. In truth, your highness, I am not sure. More often it is said..." but then she stopped herself.

Prince Oberyn leant forwards again, curious. "What is more often said?"

Karys paused again. Prince Oberyn was a guest, and not to be held under suspicion. But she thought again about what Maester Luwin had warned against - that Oberyn was a dangerous man. He was also the good-brother of the future Targaryen king. Should she tell him the truth? That the Northerners frequently muttered that House Stark knelt so that none of their bannermen would ever have to? That many of her father's bannermen considered themselves for the most part free and removed from the Iron Throne - the wild mountain clansmen, the wild warrior women of Bear Island, everyone who followed the Old Ways and the Old Gods - to them the Iron Throne meant nothing. What if Oberyn was testing her loyalty to his sister's new husband?

"It's often said that he probably did. Why wouldn't he?" She shrugged and gave a wan little smile.

If anything Prince Oberyn looked a little disappointed. But he gave her a smile and said, "You're a smart one. Another thing that Dorne and the North have in common is that the North is not so famed for its scholars either. Very few Northern maesters-in-training when I was at The Citadel."

"My father has often said that if The Citadel took in women, he would send me there. That it would be easier than trying to find a suitor."

Prince Oberyn laughed at this, and Karys flushed again. It had been an intimate thing to say to someone who was more or a less a stranger, and not at all proper, but she couldn't deny that she was pleased to have sincerely amused him.

"You could always disguise yourself as a boy and try to sneak into the Citadel." He raised an arm and swept it out as if painting a scene as he continued, "think of the adventures you could have, hiding your identity, outsmarting the sons of other noble houses, avoiding marriage for the rest of your life..."

Karys laughed, tucking a strand of hair that had fallen from its knot and murmured, "I think my father would still prefer a suitable match, even if he says he has given up."

"Then he has the same problems with you, as my older brother has with me. I am sure that no matter how frustrated your father is, he has an easier time than Doran."

"You do not wish to be married either?"

Oberyn shrugged "I see no appeal or gain for me in the matter, besides," and the sardonic grin crept back across his face, "I haven't exactly made myself a desirable candidate amongst the noble fathers of the realm." He paused and bit his lip as if to stop anything else slipping out. Then he began again,

"Now we have spoken for so long, I don't doubt that you have forgotten entirely why you rushed in here."

Karys had indeed forgotten all about the pouch of herbs that she still held tightly in her fist. No doubt its contents was crushed to pieces.

"Oh, I came to put away some plants and herbs I collected."

"Yes, I could tell that whoever used this room was a master of all things botanical. I was most impressed with your Glass Gardens here when I was walking in them earlier. You have an impressive library of medical texts too."

"Yes, the maester has been training me to help him with medical procedures."

"Do you enjoy that?" Oberyn asked, regarding her with a quizzical look.

"Oh yes. It's a useful skill to have - everyone has need of healers and an extra pair of hands is never wasted. Also..." she faltered, flushing again under Oberyn's gaze, before adding somewhat quietly and pathetically "... I like to read."

Oberyn smiled and said "You really should think about sneaking into the Citadel one day. I think you would enjoy it. Now would you be so kind as to show me some of your collection? I have a fair knowledge from my days of study, but I'm sure you have some rare Northern plants I have never seen before..."

So Karys did as Oberyn asked, pulling glass vials out of drawers, and bunches of flowers down from where they hung on the beams that crossed the ceiling. He inspected each one, turning it over in his hands, raising it to his nose to smell, and talking with her about its properties. Karys said little, but listened to him with rapt attention. Some of what he said was familiar to her, some was new, but she listened as she had done when he told her the stories of his travels when he first arrived.

"And what is this?" he said after sometime, pointing at something at the end of the table as Karys replaced bunches of herbs on their hooks. Karys looked at what he pointing at and flinched. It was the weirwood trunk that Ned had given her, which contained all of her most potent plants.

"Th..that," she stammered "was a gift from my brother Ned."

Oberyn moved the small trunk, testing its weight with his hands. "It is very beautiful. Your brother must love you very much to give you such a beautiful present."

From inside came a faint clink of glass. Oberyn stopped moving the box and looked at Karys.

"What is inside?"

Karys swallowed before saying..."They are very rare herbs. Very difficult to come by. So I like to keep them... safe..."

"May I see?"

Prince Oberyn was holding her in a steady gaze with his hands still on the box. Would he open it to see its contents whether or not she agreed? Could he open the strange combination of locks? Karys hesitated...

 _ ***THUD THUD THUD***_

A knock at the door interrupted Karys' stream of thought.

"Enter," she called.

A young serving woman entered the room and giving a curtsey said, "M'lady, Maester Luwin has been looking for you. There are several bannermen arrived who you must go to greet. He said to be quick about it too."

Karys knew it had been to good to be true. The rest of her nameday would be spent curtseying and greeting guests. "I will be there soon," she said with a sigh.

"My dear," Prince Oberyn said suddenly, addressing the serving girl. "Could you tell the maester that Lady Karys and I are presently engaged in some important discussions? I know her time is precious with all that is going on here, so we thought it best to get diplomacy out of the way first. I will try to be as quick as possible so that the lady may resume her duties. We will not be more than another hour, hour and a half?"

He finished by flashing a grin at the serving girl who blushed, nodded her head, and then tried to curtsey before nearly falling over herself as she tried to exit.

When the door closed behind her, Prince Oberyn turned his grinning face to Karys. "There. I have bought you over an hour more of freedom. You have to show me what is in the box now." He stretched out his hand, offering it to her.

Karys smirked, and reached for the box. She opened the complicated network of locks and showed the contents to the Dornish prince - tinctures and teas, the broach and ring which had once belonged to her mother. Then she pulled back the concealed compartment and revealed some bundles of nightshade, distilled Septa's Hood, a thick, syrupy concoction the colour of ink, and the fragile flowers and berries she had wrapped in cloth so many moons ago in The Neck. Of everything, it was this delicate bundle that Prince Oberyn picked up to inspect.

"I don't believe I have ever seen this plant before..." he murmured.

"It's moonflower," Karys said remembering what Howland Reed had told her. "They are very rare. They never bloom beyond The Neck, and you cannot find them in the South. They are..." Karys paused, wondering whether she should continue. But then she remembered what Maester Luwin had said about the prince forging a link in poisons at the citadel. She took a deep breath and said, "they are exceptionally poisonous. Both the berries and the flowers."

Prince Oberyn turned the delicate branch over in his hands, studying it. Then he looked at Karys, and she felt as though he was studying her as well.

"You are a strange little thing aren't you. The Starks are famous for their wolfblood and battle bravery, but poison - poison is cold, calculating. You must have ice in your veins to use it effectively. Though, I imagine ice is not in short supply this far north..."

He turned the moonflower over in his hands one more time before reaching for Karys' hand and placing it in her open palm. Then he rose from where he was perched on the edge of the bench and brushed down his tunic.

"Enjoy your hour of freedom, my lady." He said. Then he bent down and pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek before adding "and happy nameday."

With that he left the solar, his tunic swinging behind him as he turned the corner out of the door. Karys remained rooted to the spot, her hand still raised where he had returned the moonflower. The spot on her cheek where he had kissed her burned and the heat leached into her veins, spreading throughout her body, making her heart pound and her head swim, as if she had been poisoned herself.


	16. Chapter 16: The Winter Feast

The night of the Winter Feast arrived. The castle had been cleaned from top to bottom, every flagstone gleaming like glass and the tapestries beaten into cleanliness. The lords and ladies of the North were assembled in the Great Hall, ready to pledge their oaths to the Warden of The North, who for this year would be Karys. The hall was full of the sigils of the northern houses, bears, moose, and lizard lions fluttering in the heat rising from the hearth and the bodies. The last time the lords had been assembled had been at the Harvest Feast, but the seasons had changed so quickly that scarce a year had passed between the start of autumn and the start of winter. The bannermen of the North's oaths were still fresh, and only those who lived close or had urgent business were in attendance save for delegations from Houses Mormont and Reed, who attended almost all feasts, no matter how long ago their oaths had last been pledged, and a small group representing House Bolton of The Dreadfort. Houses Manderly, Flint and Karstark had all written apologies for their absences, and the absences of the smaller houses under their control.

Karys sat in the Throne of The Kings Of Winter facing her guests. She was wearing a long white woollen gown covered in heavy embroidery. The embroidery was also white so the wolves and other animas that frolicked over her skirt were ghostlike and as hard to capture as the real things. The dress was a gown of her mother's that Karys had modified. Her mother had been slender with a long neck, and dark hair that she wore swept up into a knot. Karys was not so much slender as wiry, but the cut of the dress more or less suited her shape, with its slim skirt, high collar, and sleeves that rested below the elbow. It had required some serious alterations in the bust, where a perhaps slightly shockingly plunging neckline had to covered right up. Karys did not have the dark hair as her mother had done, nor did she often sweep her hair up, so instead she put her hair into a braided crown around her head. Despite her maids' protests, she eschewed wearing any jewellery or make up. She felt ostentatious enough without looking like a painted mummer. She was at best a pale imitation of what her mother had been, and she glumly thought she was probably a pale imitation of what her older sister could be if sat in the same position, but she kept her glumness suppressed as she prepared to address the hall.

The throne was on a raised platform, allowing the sitter to be comfortably just above the eyeline of the men standing in front of it. Normally at feasts, the platform would be full to bursting with the stark children, though it was Lyanna and Brandon who took up most of the space with their loudness and boldness alone. They would sit each side of their father, as the Old Maester Walys took notes on a small desk. Today only she and Benjen represented the family. He stood rather than sat on her right hand side, wearing a new tunic of fine dark wool with a wolf's head emblazoned on the left side of his chest. Karys had done the needle work on that herself, as well as the intricate grey and silver chains around the wrists and collar. Benjen raised himself repeatedly onto his toes, making a slight creaking souns as he tried to ease the stiffness in the new pair of black leather boots he was wearing. Karys was pleased with how smart he had turned out.

Further down the platform now sat Maester Luwin, taking over the role for the first time since Maester Walys had returned to The Citadel because of his old age. Quill and parchment resting on a small table at his side, more of a formality than anything, as there were no special notes to be taken during an oath swearing ceremony, save for a register of names. He wore his normal, simple garb and his chain lay heavily on his shoulders.

Indeed the only unusual placement on the platform was Prince Oberyn Martell. As a member of a great house, though was the youngest member, he was of equal rank to Karys as daughter of Warden of the North. As such he was granted a seat on her left hand side. He half sat, half reclined in the high back chair provided for him, one leg thrown over the other with his elbow resting on the arm of the chair and his chin in the cup of his hand. He looked rather amused by everything going on before him, and by the stir he was evidently creating. The northmen were all dressed in the muted tones of black, grey, green, brown and white. All in simple tunics and trousers, with knee high snow boots and fur lined capes. Prince Oberyn's yellow and orange dress-tunic with its elaborate gold embroidery and complex pleats made him stick out like a sore thumb. Unlike Karys he happily wore jewellery - bronze bands around his fingers, a serpent headed chain around his wrists and a heavy gold necklace around his neck. He looked deeply foreign, and the other Northerners were uneasy.

Maester Luwin seemed to sense the ripples in the crowds as murmurs created a low throbbing hum in the hall. He stood from his seat and announced.

"My lords, ladies, and bannermen of the North, pray silence for our acting warden of the North, Lady Karys Stark."

Karys rose to her feet slowly, and as she did so she felt every eye in the hall upon her. She swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat and tried to ignore the knot in her stomach as she spoke.

"My lords, ladies, and bannermen. I am gladdened that you have come here tonight to our feast that celebrates the coming of winter. Though it does not seem long since our Harvest Feast, I am pleased that so many of you decided to return to us. The months that lie before us will be long and dark, and it is in winter that we need to remain close to one another, and to look after one another. My father has always told me that... So let us renew our friendships and oaths, that we may endure another winter."

And with that she sat back down,as the Northmen gave a round of applause. Then one by one they came forward to make their vows. The same words they had been making for thousands of years, long before Karys had been born, long before her father had been born, long before Aegon and his dragons had come to Westeros.

Once the vows had been made everyone took a seat at the benches and waited for the food to come out. A few servants came forward with large tables to place in front of the party occupying the platform, whilst others brought huge plates of roast beast and side dishes from the kitchens. Everything was presented to Karys first, as acting Warden of the North, and then to the other guests. Soon, what had been a room of austere silence transformed into uproarious laughter, the scraping of knives on plates, and the crashing of goblets.

Once the meal was finished, and the guests were sated, Karys gave the signal to the servants. The benches and tables were soon pushed back and the musicians who had been playing quietly in the corner struck up a faster tune. Soon many of the guests had begun to dance, some better than others. Some were merely coarse Northmen who had never bothered to learn the art of dancing, whilst others were merely the worse for drink. Soon there were many guests whirling around on the floor, singing and laughing. Others chose to remain at the sides, picking at leftovers from the feast, enjoying another cup of wine or ale, and watching the others spin like tops. Some of the small folk from around Winterfell had made it into the Hall and were enjoying helping themselves to the fine wines that the servants carried around in heavy metal jugs. Karys even spied a few of the Winter's Town whores making their way through the crowds, but she saw no harm in it - that was to be expected at large festival like this and as long as nothing came to blows by sword, she wasn't going to interfere.

The musicians alternated between well known songs from the Seven Kingdoms and famous courtly dances, to the northern jigs and reels. At one moment the daughters of House Cerwyn were dancing an elegant volta with the nephew of the Lord of Grey Water's Watch, and the next John Umber was flinging one of the serving girls around in a wild jig. Benjen had disappeared somewhere under the tables with some of the younger children, and Karys thought she saw a goose drumstick go flying. Frost certainly saw something, as she departed from the platform to investigate. At some point Prince Oberyn has left the platform and could be seen chatting amiably to the young lady Barbrey Ryswell in the corner of the hall. Lord William Dustin was a few feet away, and looked less than pleased.

Maester Luwin stood up and folded his notes. As he made to descend from the platform he paused next to Karys, who was still sat on the throne, and said,

"You are not made of ice, you could join in the dances yourself."

Karys gave him a small smile and nod, saying nothing.

Maester Luwin smiled back and said,

"I know you are eager to to please your father, and regain his favour. Let me assure you my lady that you have performed your duties here remarkably well for someone so young. And I will be sure to tell your father of your successes. It will not hurt you to enjoy yourself a little tonight."

"I quite agree." said a soft voice.

Karyn and the maester turned to see who had spoken. At the foot of the platform, one foot resting on the stairs leading upwards was a young beardless man of average height with eyes even paler than Karys' own. Just older than Brandon, Roose Bolton was the heir to the Dreadfort. Karys had never been introduced to him before, but she knew that Brandon and Ned had been hunting with him several times, and that neither of her brothers had any love for the Bolton heir. Brandon had called riding with him "as pleasant as being in the company of a giant ice spider" and that he would rather "eat horse dung" than have to spend any more time with him. Ned had had settled for the more concise "disturbing".

Roose took another step up towards the platform and addressed Karys,

"My Lady, I was hoping that you would agree to join in the dance with me?" He offered a thin ghostly white hand towards her.

There was nothing in the world that Karys wanted less than to dance with this man. The unflinching, unblinking look he was giving her with those pale eyes was enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. However she kept her disgust well concealed and replied.

"Thank you Lord Roose, I will dance with you." And she took his hand as she walked down the steps.

As they made their way towards the dancing crowd, guests parted on each side to let them pass. They made bows and curtsies to Karys, and shot dark looks at Roose. Roose however paid them no attention. He escorted Karys near the middle of the floor and then placed an arm on her waist to begin the dance. The musicians struck up "The Winter Maid" and the dancing resumed.

For a while Karys and Roose danced in silence. Karys normally liked dancing. She was a far better in dance lessons than Lyanna, who excelled more in singing and did not have the patience to master the intricate steps of the formal dances. Lyanna was more prone to flinging herself around to the northern jigs than the delicate steps of southron courtly dances. In fact Lyanna had often teased Karys that dancing was one of the few things that proved she wasn't a complete hermit, up in her solar with her books and plants. She wished that Lyanna or her brothers were here now. They would have seen how uncomfortable she was and would have come to rescue her. Instead she kept her eyes firmly locked over Roose's left shoulder as they danced. For a while this worked until Roose began to talk.

"So how have you enjoyed your time acting as Warden of the North?" he asked in a cool, soft tone.

Karys paused before answering, making sure she chose her words carefully. "It has been a challenge, but I hope my father will be pleased with my actions."

Roose made no response to this and the silence resumed. Then he asked another question,

"Have you heard anything from your father in his travels south? How goes the betrothal of your brother to Catelyn Tully?"

Karys blanched a little. She was not expecting questions on her father's business.

"I haven't heard, my lord," she replied politely, "But I dare say that no news means everything is going according to plan."

Roose looked at her for a moment. Then he spoke, if it was possible, even more softly.

"I am sure you are aware, my lady, that there are many in the North who question your father's judgement in making these alliances with far flung families. Your brother to the Riverlands, Your sister to the Stormlands. When we heard that Mace Tyrell had come North to claim your hand there were many families who felt quite angry. Of course, when they heard how you had sent the prize rose of Highgarden packing..."

At this Karys flushed. "I assure you, the incident with Lord Mace was..."

"Oh no need to apologise my lady," Roose cut across her, silky soft,"Your dismissal of Lord Mace was rather well received in some parts. For you see, there are some here in the North who worry that your father's diplomatic ambitions are blinding him to the needs of his own people. If you and your sister are sent south who is left to tie the Starks to their own bannermen?"

Karys was confused. "Brandon will remain at Winterfell as Father's heir, and Ned will..."

"Yes," Roose cut across her again, though he never raised his voice, "Brandon will remain here as your father's heir, and he will bring his southron wife with him, with all her southron ways. Rumours are that he has been talking to house Manderly about having a Sept built here at Winterfell. All your nieces and nephews will be brought up worshiping the Seven instead of the Old Gods. They will forget the Old Ways that we northerners have followed for centuries. And as for Ned- Lord Arryn doesn't have daughters, but he has nieces and his bannermen have daughters. If your Father trusts Arryn enough to foster Ned, he probably trusts him enough to find some suitable candidates for marriage amongst the ladies of The Vale."

Karys' head was spinning, and it wasn't from the dancing. She was trying to process all this information so quickly that she kept misstepping. Even as she accidentally kicked Roose in the shins, he didn't flinch at all. He merely resumed his speech,

"So when Lord Mace was sent home some were relieved, hoping that your father would have seen his mistake and instead make advances towards some of the many noble families in the North..."

Roose's hand tightened almost imperceptibly around her own, and Karys felt a jolt of alarm, even though his face showed no anger. She did her best to maintain an expression of icy impassivity as he swept her around the floor past the other guests, and hoped that one of them would interrupt them, or that a servant would knock something over and she would have to go attend to it.

"... after all a Northern wife was good enough for your father, why not for his children? However it seems he is set on his course of putting a Stark in every Great House in Westeros..."

At this she saw him shoot a dark look across the room. Following his gaze she realised he was referring to Prince Oberyn, who now not only had the ear of Barbrey Ryswell but of a few other ladies too.

"Prince Oberyn is not here to marry me," Karys said, feeling the heat rise over her exposed chest, up her neck, and across her cheeks. "He is merely passing through from his... travels. He is to join his sister at court now she is married to Prince Rhaegar, on his brother's orders..." She was desperately trying to remember what it was that Prince Oberyn had said over dinner. Was he going to form part of her guard? Or was it his uncle? "I assure you Lord Roose that the subject of marriage has not been raised at all between the Houses Stark and Martell."

Roose regarded her for a moment with a cold calculating look, as if assessing her for untruths. Seemingly satisfied he said. "Forgive me for making assumptions. It would have been rash for your father to marry you to someone such as the younger Prince of Dorne... No matter how much he desires a noble match, someone with a reputation such as The Red Viper's is too much... Any woman would walk out into the Dornish desert with no water and hope the sands would claim her after a few years in a marriage like that. Well then. Perhaps your father has seen sense. As long as he doesn't intend to try and marry you to the young Prince Viserys or Tywin Lannister's stunted little monster... they are both too young anyway. Perhaps you will still have the fortune to be married to a good northern family, who will respect you and treat you the way you deserve..."

Karys felt panicked. All she wanted to do was be away from this man. How did he know so much about the goings on inside her family, and why was he so keen to talk about her potential betrothals? She sought desperately for an excuse to leave, when suddenly,

"Excuse me Lord Roose, but I was wondering if you were going to allow the lady to dance with anyone else tonight?"

Karys looked to her right and saw the smiling face of Howland Reed. She felt such a huge wave of relief and gratitude at his appearance. Roose was not so pleased to see the crannogman, and looked as though he was about to say something. Karys decided to speak first,

"I'm sure Lord Roose wouldn't mind if I danced a while with you. He must be tired of me kicking his shins."

She tried a small smile. Roose did not return this, but at least he relinquished her arm and waist. As he slunk off, Howland assumed his position and began to twirl Karys around the floor.

"I thought you looked in need of rescue. Roose is not the most fun person to be left with at a feast. He's not one for easy conversation."

Karys smiled sincerely at Howland. "I am very grateful."

"So what have you been up to since you left us in The Neck? Aside from ruling the whole of the North?"

Karys grinned. She had forgotten how much she enjoyed Howland's easy company. "Not a great deal. Mostly it was fighting with my sister, practicing my archery and sword play, riding out in the open..."

"And kicking the young Lord of Hightower out of The North?"

"Does everyone know about that?" Karys sighed, exasperated.

Howland beamed at her. "I think so. Though I had it from the horses mouth, as I was guiding his riding party through the neck."

He stopped smiling. "I do feel responsible though."

Karys looked at him, confused. "In what possible way could you be responsible?"

"That day we went to the weirwood tree, you were bitten there. I told you not to worry about it. Then the next thing we hear in the Neck is that you are hovering near death's door with Marsh Fever. I should have paid greater attention to you. I shouldn't have been so... distracted."

With this Karys flushed. She remembered that moment very clearly, as Howland had kissed her there. She thought it best to try and dance around the subject,

"You do not control the insects, Howland. You couldn't have known what would happen."

"But I did not keep your safety in the forefront of my mind."

"That is not your duty, Howland."

"Yes it is. I am sworn to your family. Sworn to serve and protect House stark - by earth and water, by bronze and iron, by ice and fire. Those are our vows and I broke them. Can you forgive me for failing you?"

His expression was so serious that Karys almost wanted to laugh, but the sincerity in his eyes prevented her from doing so. "Of course you are forgiven."

"I will not fail you again. I never want you to be hurt on account of my failing you."

Karys stared into his soft brown eyes. And she thought about what Roose Bolton had said, that a northern husband would treat her better, and respect her ways more than a Southron husband. Briefly her eyes flickered to the corner where Prince Oberyn had been. He was no longer there. She remembered the maester's words - "a dangerous man" and though she had never felt uncomfortable around him the way she had done with Roose, there was still something so very foreign about him. She also remembered how Mace Tyrell had disrespected the Godswood as she had tried to pray. Perhaps there was no man south of The Neck who would understand her northern ways.

She smiled at Howland and said, "Well tonight I would be satisfied if you could keep me from having to dance with Roose Bolton again."

Howland grinned at her, "As you wish my lady."


	17. Chapter 17: Letters

The festivities lasted for days thereafter. Although the main feast had passed, there were several days of smaller feasts and events that followed. One couldn't expect the bannermen to travel from all over the North to attend one meal. Riding contests and mêlées, dancing and pantomimes - the castle of Winterfell rang with the festivities. Children rushed around and young men laughed over roasted boar, despite being bruised and battered. Daughters who hd been married off to other families got to show off new babies to their mothers. The ale flowed and the whore house of Winters Town did roaring trade.

Karys spent some of her time chasing Benjen through the grounds, as he had become hideously overexcited and was causing havoc as he raced around, climbing the walls and having fake battles with the other boys. When she was not dragging Benjen from the battements by his ankles, she continued her duties as Acting Warden of the North in solving the disputes and problems of her bannermen. Her diplomatic senses were growing and she was learning to assess the myriad of situations well. She could tell when disputes came from real wrongs or hurt pride, and how best to handle the temperaments of complainants. Overall the Northerners were pleased with her judgements, and some of the more senior lords were always willing to provide advice if she asked for it.

Though she knew she should not have favourites amongst her own bannermen, she did find herself preferring the company of some to others. Lord Jeor Mormont was gruff but earnest. His loyaty was unquestionable, and despite her age he treated her with respect. His attitude towards her was no doubt influenced by Dalla's role as her primary handmaiden, and he advised her as her own father might have. Lord Reed was also one of her favourites. Her time spent in the neck had forged strong relations between the houses, and he spoke softly and kindly to her. Lords Dustin and Umber were also ready and happy to provide counsel when she requested. However, she had continued misgivings about Lord Bolton and his son Roose. Like the other lords they were eager to give counsel, indeed they were often the first to offer advice, but something in their manner made Karys suspicious and uncomfortable.

She could not sit in the great weirwood throne for long however, before she longed for a touch of silence, and when she could she stole away to her secret room at the top of the tower. She did that one clear and cold morning in order to read a letter from her brother Ned in the Vale. Settling herself in one of the chairs by the fire, and with Frost snoring heavily on the rug, she opened the letter to see what he had written:

 _Dearest Karys,_

 _I am glad that all seems to be going well at Winterfell. I always knew you would make Father proud. Even though you are now only 14, I have always known you had the head of a 40 year old maester on your shoulders - if only to compensate for Brandon and Lyanna's foolishness. You are surely the most capable of all of us, not counting the incident with Mace Tyrell, and are making the finest impression on Father's bannermen._

 _Though I know you to be a good judge of character, nonetheless please take a little advice from your older brother. I know you have some misgivings about some of them - I agree with your assessment of Roose Bolton. I have met him but a few times at contests and he has always been as pleasant company as an ice spider - ensure you treat them all fairly, and never let your misgivings show. Moreover never make promises that you or Father will find difficult to fulfil._

 _A final word of advice. Pay close attention to Prince Oberyn. Surely by now you know his reputation, and we had perhaps best prepare for a population explosion in the next 9 months in the Winters Town brothel. Lord Arryn informs me that there is a scandal in Kings Landing as one of the Septas at the Sept of Baelor has recently presented a baby to Princess Elia, claiming it to be the product of her Wedding celebrations. She claims the baby is Oberyn's and apparently Princess Elia is more than happy to accept this and intends to send the baby to her brother Doran in Dorne. In sum, lets try to keep the broken hearts to a minimum. And let the Prince know that Dorne is not the only kingdom where they raise their bastards before he starts laying claim to half our kingdom._

 _As for me, things continue on here. I swear I spend twice as much time cleaning up after Robert as I ever did Brandon, and I never thought I'd ever meet anyone who left such chaos in their wake as our older brother. I may never be a knight, but I'd make an excellent chamber maid._

 _Keep well._

 _Your loving brother,_

 _Ned._

Karys smiled as she finished the letter. Those who did not know her brother well would perhaps be shocked at the length and humour of the letter. Although he appeared reserved to the outside world, Karys knew that under the stoic façade lay a tender heart, and that he would not withhold sincere advice where he felt it was required to be given. She was also amused at the tale of Prince Oberyn. Despite her brother's honourable intentions, he had quite the ear for rumours. Perhaps it was his quiet nature that deceived people into thinking he was not listening or would not pass it on.

She was just rereading the letter for the second time when there was a knock at the door.

"Enter" she called.

It was maester Luwin who entered, and Karys could tell by the look on his face that he did not come bearing glad tidings.

"Maester Luwin, what is the matter?"

"My lady. I have just received a raven from Lord Dustin's brother who currently guards the keep at Barrowtown. My lady I regret to inform you that we are under attack by the Ironborn. They are advancing up the Saltspear and towards the Barrowlands. I am also hearing reports that they are already arrived at Flint's Finger."

Karys digested this information. Swallowing, she said in a small, confused voice "Maester Luwin, what should I do?"

"My lady, we currently have half of the North's best fighters in our alehouses. Summon your lords and take their counsel. They will steer you well."

Karys nodded, and said "Very well. Summon my banner men. The lord of every major keep here should attend me as soon as they can. Tell every servant you meet to find them - in the grounds or in the whorehouse. Bring them to my Father's solar, please."

"As you wish, my lady." And with great haste the maester left. Karys could hear him calling to servants further down the hall.

She rose from the chair and straightened her dress. Frost too rose from her place near the fire, perhaps sensing the panic. Karys gave a little whistle and the white wolf jumped to her feet and followed her mistress out fo the room and down the steps towards Lord Rickard's solar.

Her Father's solar was larger than hers and more imposing. Here too were maps and records of the North. How far away each castle was and how many soldiers each keep could raise. She unrolled a huge map across her father's desk and as she flattened it, traced a line from Winterfell to the Barrowlands, feeling the weight of command pressing on her slim shoulders.

Within the hour, the principal lords of the North arrived. Servants brought in as many chairs as they could find for the lords, and soon a council had assembled itself in front of Lord Rickard's desk. Behind the desk, Karys sat with her eyes fixed on the map in front of her. She occasionally lifted her eyes every time someone new entered through the door, but returned quickly to their original position. The lords grumbled and shouted "Outrageous!" "The damned insolence!" "Bloody bastards!" Karys, however, remained silent. It was not until she was sure that all the principle lords had assembled that she got to her feet.

She marvelled at how quickly silence fell, and how every lord fixed their gaze upon her, awaiting her command. She felt heartened by their respect, but deeply anxious about the possibility that she would let them down. Clearing her throat, she spoke,

"My lords, it seems the Ironborn have launched an attack against the south western Shore of the North. There is a small force close to Flint's Finger..." and she gesticulated on the map in front of her, "... and they have started an advance through the Barrowlands towards Barrowtown and Torrhen's Square."

She looked up at the older and wiser lords around her. They remained silent and stared at the map in front of them. Then the *clunk* of the heavy door to the solar made every head turn, including Karys' own. It was not a servant or the maester as she presumed, but Prince Oberyn. He sauntered into the solar, closed the door behind him, and then leant against the wall eating a handful of nuts and dried fruits. A ripple passed through the group and finally Lord Dustin spoke.

"Do yeh have some business here? And would it put you at pains to wait until we have finished talking to our Lady Stark?"

Prince Oberyn didn't look up from his hand full of snacks, but replied, "I am merely here to help the lady in any way I can. And besides," at this his eyes flickered up towards Lord Dustin and then to Karys, "She is not Lady Stark. Lady Stark is her sister. If you wish to help Lady Stark, you are in the wrong solar by a few hundred miles..."

Jon Umber jumped to his feet at this. He was so massive in size that he dwarfed the slender prince as a mountain dwarfs a sapling. "Listen here, Dornishman. What right do yeh have to insert yourself in our Northern business? What could give yeh cause..."

Fearing they would come to blows, Karys let out a strained shout. "Please!"

As all heads rotated back towards her she continued in a gentler tone, "There are Ironborn raping and pillaging their way through The North, winter winds are blowing, and heavy snows will be upon us soon. It will be eight days journey at least to the Barrowlands, and I would appreciate it if all my lords could make it there without having come to blows before we have left Winterfell."

She cast one of the baleful looks she had often thrown at Lyanna and Brandon when they came to blows at John Umber and Prince Oberyn.

Grinning, Prince Oberyn made a small bow and said "I am only here to serve, my lady."

"Yer not the only one..." Jon Umber began. The Old Bear, Lord Mormont, turned in his chair and barked roughly, "No one's helping anyone by arguing who's helping the most. So can we get on with things, or will the Ironborn have reached The Wall by the time we've come up with a strategy?"

Silence fell across the room. Karys waited for a beat before speaking.

"My Lords and bannermen..." she hesitated and decided not to add "Prince" to the list... "how do you suggest we proceed?"

The discussion went hours into the evening. By the time the arguing over tactics had finished, heavy clouds were racing over the Moon's pale face, making its edges glow in a ghostly fashion. The shouting amongst the principle lords of the North had died down, mostly because they were hoarse of voice, less so because they had come to an accord. Karys tried to stifle a yawn that threatened to escape her throat, and balled her hands into fists to prevent her from rubbing her eyes, which itched with tiredness.

"So my Lords, we have it." Karys pressed her palms into the table and pushed herself out of her seat, voice cracking from overuse and exhaustion. "Lord Reed and Lord Hornwood will head towards the small force at Flint's finger. They will alert Lord Manderly, and request he send a small force to defend the lands between Fever River and the White Knife. Lord Cerwyn will place himself between these forces and Lords Reed and Hornwood, protecting The King's Road. Lords Dustin, Tallheart, Ryswell, Mormont and Bolton will ride with the men from Winterfell and will head straight for the Barrowlands, and attempt to chase the Ironborn back to the sea."

This final was met with grumbles of approval and even a gruff "hear, hear" from one Lord.

Lord Tallheart raised his voice and asked, "With both your brothers away, will Winterfell's forces be lead by your Master at Arms?"

Karys paused for a moment before she answered. She ran her finger over the raised ridges of the rivers and mountains of The North that fanned out over the surface of the maps in front of her.

"No my Lord Tallheart. I will lead the Winterfell forces."

There was instant uproar. The Northern Lords would not hear of it. A girl of 14 at the head of an army.

"My lady you can't..."

"You are too young..."

"Your father would skin us alive if he knew..."

But Karys had had enough. She was tired and wanted to go to bed. She knew her duty, and was prepared to do it, no matter the cost.

"My lords my mind is set. I am the acting Warden of the North, it is my duty to lead my people and my armies. My brother Benjen will remain here as the Stark in Winterfell. I will send a Raven first thing in the morning to tell my Father of what has happened and what my decision is. I suggest you all go to bed. The months ahead will be difficult. And winter is coming."

With that she left the noble lords of the North to grumble and complain amongst themselves. She removed herself through the door and began her way down the hall, Frost padding alongside her. Suddenly she stopped, sensing someone following her. She turned to see Prince Oberyn hastening behind her.

He approached her with a grin and said, "When I suggested you act like a boy and go on adventures, I did not think you would take me so seriously and decided to play war games."

Karys kept her face impassive as she retorted, "Forgive me Prince Oberyn, but nothing about war strikes me as a game. I am not going to play with swords, I am going to protect my people." She raised her chin and peered at him, with an icy stare.

"Besides, I thought you said you wanted to serve me? If you have changed your mind and wish to stay behind, I assure you that as a guest of Winterfell you have my protection."

Prince Oberyn balked a little, before his lip curled into a wicked grin. "Of course I will serve alongside you my lady. To repay you for your hospitality. But I, in return, assure you of this - all war is a game. And it's a game I love to play."

He turned on the heel of his boot, his long pleated tunic fanning out behind him as he strode down the hall. Karys, fatigued by the boisterous opinions of men, clicked her tongue as a signal to Frost to follow. All she wanted was to go to bed, as it was surely the last good sleep she would have for a while. Soon she would be sleeping in a camp, up to her knees in snow and mud.

As soon as she had reached her room, clambered into bed and taken a sip of her weirwood tree, she drifted into an uneasy sleep, wondering what her father would make of her decisions.

That night she dreamt she was trapped at the bottom of the ocean, trying to make her way to the surface. Something on the bottom of the sea floor was pulling her down so hard it felt as if she were hooked by an anchor. It pulled on her leg, and she felt a stabbing pain. Someone above her reached through the surface to pull her up, but they were too far away. As she strained to take the hand offered to her, she felt her lungs fill with icy, burning, salt water...

Down in the godswood, a bust of wind shook some of the leaves from the branches of the great weirwood, and in its branches a raven croaked dolefully.


	18. Chapter 18: last Days of Innocence

Italics mean that characters are speaking a different language. In this case Old Tongue, the old language of the North and of the First Men. I know in the books (and TV) this is only heard beyond the wall, but in earlier chapters I did have the Stark children learn a few words of it. I think it will come in useful later ;-).

Karys squinted her eyes against the weather as she looked out across the wind swept plains of the Barrowlands. Half frozen rain lashed down from the foreboding sky, stinging her cheeks. The heather and scrub lay almost flat against the greying snow, the force of the wind was so great. The smell of leather and cloth damp with sweat and sleet rose in a warm fog that surrounded the army of men and women behind her.

The muscles of the horse underneath her gave a shudder, and Karys turned the animal back towards the crowd of lords behind her.

"Here, m'lady?" said Lord Mormont, gruffly.

"Will it suffice?" Karys asked, using all her effort to reply. Every muscle and bone in her body ached from the relentless riding through the cold.

"Aye, m'lady. If we dig in a bit closer to the barrows, they and the hills will provide some shelter from this wind and sleet."

"Then give the order," Karys said.

Lord Mormont nodded, and turned his horse. He barked his orders at the mass of half-frozen bodies behind, and they obediently made their way towards a gap between a hill and an ancient barrow. There they would make camp for the night.

The other lords also began to make their way towards the barrow, accompanied by their retinues of footmen and sons and daughters.

Karys meanwhile stayed put and stared out across the Barrowlands. The plains were full of rolling hills, but not all of these hills were natural. Many were in fact barrows - the ancient graves of the First Men. Karys wondered how long ago it was that these men, and probably women, had been lain to rest here. Had they died of old age, disease, or in battle? Had they fought raiders from across the sea? Or just in wars between themselves, before House Stark had risen to become the most prominent family and come to rule The North?

She watched the mass of grey and black leather and fur that moved like a mass of ants towards the night's camp. On the far left hand flank she saw a flash of colour that marked out Prince Oberyn and some of his motley crew of Dornishmen and exotic warriors from Essos. The youngest in her army was the same age as her, perhaps there were even younger who had managed to sneak past the checks of the Master at Arms. Men and women, boys and girl - half frozen and pushing forward through the worsening weather, some of them never going home again. She hadn't fought her first battle yet, and already Karys was tired of war.

"My lady need not worry. Her lords will undoubtedly do their best to ensure that her ladyship is kept safe from harm. Nothing is more important to us than that."

Lord Bolton had ridden up close to her. Just behind him was his son Roose. As Kerys turned to look at him, she could see that he hovered silently behind them, still as an ice sculpture, with his eyes fixed unblinkingly on her.

"Thank you for your concern Lord Bolton." Karys replied, courteously but with a hint of coolness in her tone. "I am pleased that my personal safety is so high in your list of interests. My primary concern is, of course, not my own safety, but the safety of the whole North."

"Your ladyship's priorities do you credit. We are all concerned about the safety of the North, both now and in the future. You may trust that House Bolton, as all the other Northern Lords I am sure, are always ready to serve in any capacity to ensure the future of The North."

His overly solicitous tone and proximity made Karys uneasy. She thanked Lord Bolton for his assurances, before kicking her horse into a run down the hillside and towards the newly forming camp.

The earth was being turned up as her army dug in their tents. With it cam a rich and slightly fetid smell, at once comforting and bitter. All hands worked at top speed to raise their shelters. All the while, the wind howled around the barrows and flurries of snow whipped up around the army of Northmen, stinging their cheeks like dainty knives.

"But why do YOU have to go?" Benjen had wined piteously.

"Because it is my duty." Karys had replied, and she stood in the blacksmith's forge, inspecting the mail shirt being fitted to her.

"Hang your duty!" Benjen shouted back, stamping his foot. He was at that age where he was almost a young man, but still retained some of his childish attitudes. "Let father or Brandon deal with the Ironborn. You are supposed to stay here and protect me and our home."

Karys pulled the mail shirt over her head and handed it back to the smithy.

"Come with me," she said curtly as she grabbed Benjen by his upper arm. She was still taler than him, and dragged him out of the blacksmith's, across the yard, and out towards the godswood. All the way Benjen wriggled against her grasp, but she held onto him tightly - so tight that he complained of her nails digging into him. Karys didn't care. She was exhausted and anxious, and her little brother would get over a few scratches.

She dragged him all the way into the godswood, until they stood near the pool that lay at the feet of the great weirwood tree. she spun him around to face her and gripped him by both shoulders.

 _"I am protecting you and our home."_ Karys spoke low and harsh in the old tongue, fixing her eyes on her younger brother with an unflinching stare. _"You are too old to think that our home begins and ends at the walls of Wintefell. Our home is the North, the whole North. The Ironborn are coming, and they want to take our home from us. I will not let them do so. "_

Benjen pouted, still sullen and said _"You are still too young to be going to war. I have heard the other liege lords talk about it. They all say that it will take extra effort to protect you. You are not Brandon or Ned. You have not been trained to be a warrior like them. Father lets you play with a sword but it doesn't mean you can got to war like boys can."_

At this Karys slapped Benjen across the face. A great red mark appeared across his cheeks. She spat back at him " _I can protect our home as well as any man. If you want girls to sit home and embroider shirts, then I hope father marries you off to some southron lord's daughter. You can go south and grow fat an idle on wine and lemon cakes whilst your wife and fat children sit around you. I'll still be a northerner though, and know that a woman can take up arms as well as any man. If the gods wish it, I'll die to protect our home. No man can do more…"_

At this Benjen picked up an old gnarled stick that lay on the ground. he whipped it around and it landed with a great **_CRACK_** against Karys' shoulder. Karys crumbled to the snowy ground in a heap with the force of the blow. Benjen stood defiant, though his bottom lip pouted slightly.

 _"It would serve you right to die out there in the snow, away from the family."_ He hissed, still using the old tongue.

Karys seethed with rage. She too grabbed a stick, and launched at Benjen. In a fit of childish rage, the two youngest Starks set about thrashing each other with the sticks. All the tension and frustration that had built up over the last few months since father had left poured out. It seemed to go on for hours until Benjen placed his foot on an unstable mossy stone and Karys, seizing the opportunity, swept his foot from underneath him, sending him tumbling back into the icy pool water.

Benjen spluttered and thrashed in the water. There was a cut above his eye, and he was blinking away the trickle of blood. Karys stood above him, panting from the exertion of the fight.

 _"I will do my duty. Our house has always been on the front line when the North has been threatened. never forget little brother, that whilst the other Great Houses buy their bannermen's service, or strike fear into them, we have always sacrificed our own house's honour for that of our fellow Northerners. That is how we became the Kings of Winter, that is how we remain the wardens of the North. For thousands of years there have been those who have tried to take our position, and no doubt they will try again. But House Stark will always be able to find loyal men and women to rise up for us. But it comes at a cost little brother."_

She threw down the stick and wiped the blood that fell from her split lip on her sleeve.

 _"If I die out there, fighting for our House and the North you will have to warden of the North and the Stark in Winterfell. It is time to learn some independence. Childhood is over little brother, and winter is coming."_

She left Benjen in the godswood after that.

Hours later as she was reading in their father's solar, he crept in and put his arms around her, saying in a childish and tearful voice,

"I'm sorry. I don't want you to die."

She put her arms around him, and squeezed him tight. "I'll try not to."

Karys pulled the furs of her coat around her. She thought of Benjen, left in Winterfell, as her liege lords made their way into her tent. She wondered if she had seen him for the last time as she had ridden out from Winterfell with her bannermen. At least she had said a proper goodbye to him. What if she never saw Ned, Brandon, Lyanna, or her father again. Ned had been so long in the Vale that she was not sure what he looked like now. She did not like the idea of not knowing what he looked like if she were to die before she saw him again.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold ran down her spine.

The squeak of chairs brought her back to her senses. The most powerful lords in the North were seating themselves around the great oak table. Closest to her were lords Mormont, Dustin, and Bolton. At the other end of the table, lords Ryswell and Tallheart spoke animatedly. Nobody was trying to make conversation with prince Oberyn, but the Dornish prince simply surveyed the other lords and the hangings of the tent, which were covered in old tongue runes and patterns, or else were the furs of massive winter animals.

Karys' tent was much grander than the others in the camp. it not only had a proper bed, weighed down with furs for warmth, it also had enough room for a great table for meetings to be held around, and for the most noble lords to sit with her at dinner. Dalla and her other handmaiden, a tall Umber girl who wielded a sword almost the same height as Karys, also had beds in the tent, alongside the many chests of clothes, armour, and furs.

The babble of the lords subsided as Lord Mormont rose to his feet. He nodded to his son, Jorah, who obediently lay out a map in front of his father, before returning to stand in stoic silence behind him.

"My lady, my lords. A raven from Howland reed informs us that he and lord hornwood have been joined by forces from House Manderly. They currently have the Ironborn who landed at Flints Finger penned in. Lord Cerwyn currently guards the King's Road from any incursions towards Moat Cailin."

The lords murmured in approval of these developments. Lord Mormont cleared his throat, and the murmurs died away.

"For us however, things will not be so easy. The Ironborn have already made headway inland. The force we face is much larger than that at Flint's Finger. By all accounts they are making headway towards Torrhen's square. Obviously they intend to take this particular location for it's symbolic value..."

Karys nodded. Torrhen was her ancestor - the "King Who Knelt" to the Targaryens 300 years ago. Some took the name to be synonymous with surrender, and the weakness of House Stark. That is the message the Ironborn were trying to send.

Lord Tallheart, whose seat Torrhen's Square was, was incensed. He roared about the audacity of the Iron Islanders for daring to touch his home.

"How dare they? Those bloody salt scum bastards...those..."

He continued to roar until Lord Mormont barked at him,

"Yes we are all insulted by the Ironborn's actions. But shouting'll get us no where if we don't strategise as to how to send them back to the sea."

The other lords muttered in agreement. Lord Mormont cleared his throat before turning to Karys.

"My Lady, I, and your other banner men, advise that we should set out as soon as possible. The Ironborn will be curving around the barrows to approach Torrhen's Square form the East. However, they are useless on land, especially on terrain as difficult as this. Our Northern troops will be able to catch them up easily, but we will need to move quickly before the bad weather sets in. We may be able to meet them outside Torrhen's Square, and chase them down the river back to the Saltspear."

Karys nodded and said "Very well my lords. if you feel that is our best course of action, then I shall take your experienced advice. We shall break camp in the morning But for now, I would have my bannermen rest a while."

Her liege lords all agree to this. They then began to decide who should lead which forces. Lord Tallheart, as the lord of Torrhen's Square was chosen to be at the head of the forces. the others then set about deciding who lead which group. This discussion went on for a long time. the Kays interjected,

"And where shall I be?"

The lords turned to her, shocked.

"My lady no."

"You cannot got to the front lines..."

"It is far too dangerous..."

But Karys shook her head.

"I cannot stay in my tent and wait for you to return. My place is with my bannermen. My father and brothers would ride out with them, so must I."

Her liege lords tried to dissuade her. For almost an hour they presented arguments, declaring it too risky, saying it would weaken their position as they tried to protect her. But Karys would not relent.

Eventually Lord Mormont said gruffly, "If your ladyship will not see sense, then I will gladly make it my duty to see that you are protected at all times. I know my sister Dalla will help me in this, as will my son Jorah."

Both Jorah and Dalla nodded, Jorah making a bow towards Karys, and Dalla grinning broadly as she gripped the short axe on her hip tightly.

"Thank you, Lord Mormont," Karys said, inclining her head towards the bear-like man. "For now I think it best we all try to get some rest, for tomorrow we ride out."

The Lords cheered their assent and everyone began to leave. Karys rose from her place and began to ready her mail for the morning. the tall umber girl began sharpening Karys' quiver of arrows with a whetstone. Dalla marched over to Karys and said with the light of excitement in her eyes.

"Tomorrow all that training gets put to use. We'll show those Ironborn - don't you worry. We will chase those bastards all the way back to the Stony Shore!"

Karys smiled half-heartedly at Dalla. She did not have the older girl's confidence. Nor did she have her skills with a sword or axe. She looked at the weapons laid out for her. A sword, not even half the weight of her brother Brandon's broadsword, her trusty dagger, and her bow and arrows.

She wondered if she would remember any of her training. She wondered if she would kill any one. This would not be like when she executed the deserter from the night's watch. The men who would be coming for her on the battlefield would not be alone. They would no be surrounded, or held down for her. They would be coming to kill her. Would Lord Mormont be able to protect her? Skilled as he, his sister, and son undoubtedly were, Karys knew that these could very well be her last days.

She climbed into her bed, under the heaps of furs. Frost, who had been skulking out of sight for some time, leapt up on to the bed as well and positioned herself over Karys' feet. Karys was grateful for the familiar presence of the wolf, who was now bigger than any of her father's dogs. She squeezed her eyes shut, and whispered a prayer to the old gods in the old tongue:

 _You gods who have already seen my fate,_

 _If it is written that I should die in the coming days I accept the fate you have laid out for me._

 _But I pray that you will strengthen my arm and make my aim true._

 _Give me a glorious death my family will be proud of._

 _And do not let too many good men and women die for me and my folly._

Out here in the Barrowlands there were no weirwood trees, just the open plains and graves of her ancestors. The wind wuthered through the barrows, howling so much that Karys could feel Frost twitch in response. She took it as a sign form the Old Gods that they had heard her prayer.

She then fell into a deep sleep, for though she was anxious, she was also cold and again she dreamt that she was drowning under the ocean's waves, some unknown hook ripping through her leg, pulling her under.

The wind continued to howl.


	19. Chapter 19: Second Blood

I have been away for a while - a combination of professional and personal upheavals have meant that I have not been able to write as much as I would like.

I have been stuck on this chapter for a long time and suffered a terrible writer's block. I apologise that it is not the quality that I would normally like to put forward.

From here on in, all speech in italics is not in the Common Tongue, but in the First Tongue. I know it is mostly relegated to the wildlings in book and TV canon, but I am making it a bit more widespread, as Scottish Gaelic is in the North of The UK. I think it is a good way of showing how separate the Northern culture is from the rest of Westeros.

* * *

The rattle of chainmail and the marching of hundreds of feet was all that Karys could hear. The army of Northerners marched over the moorlands, against the howling wind that stung their cheeks and threw half frozen rain into their eyes. They were heading for Barrowtown which, if the scouts reports were to be believed, was already overtaken by the Ironborn.

The night before , in the musty warmth of her tent, Karys had mapped out with the highest lords in the north a stratagem for the recapture of Barrowtown. They had decided that, rather than make straight for the larger and more ancient seat, they would approach via Goldgrass, the small seat of House Stout, that stood between them and the gate to Barrowtown. This would allow them to establish a strong foothold in the plains, as well as open them to negotiations with the Ironborn. Lord Dustin had suggested this, perhaps in hope of preventing any major damage coming to his lands and properties. The other lords had agreed to its tactical advantage, but Karys could tell from their eyes that they doubted whether it would protect Lord Dustin's land from the pillage of the Ironborn or the ravages of warfare.

But now the tents had been pulled up, and the army - her army - marched east of Barrowtown

She could feel the rhythmic thud of the feet of men and horses in her bones as well as in her ears. She was sore from being sat in her saddle for too long and the freezing air caught in her chest and left a chill in all her body that she was certain she would never be rid of.

The aches and cold went on for hours as her troops drew closer to Goldgrass. All around them flurries of snow mixed with frozen rain, smearing the landscape with heavy white streaks of slush and half-formed ice.

Eventually, after what seemed indeterminable hours of marching through the bitter weather, the northern forces could see the small town of Goldgrass to the west. Karys sent her foremost lords forwards to start establishing the defences. The steady rhythm of the marching gave way to the scramble to pitch up defences. Soon, out from the slush covered plains rose a small forest of tents and pitches, and the Northmen began to bed in for the coming night.

Ensconced in her tent, Karys wrapped a heavy fur tight around her as she sat on her pallet bed. Dalla laid out plates and cups on the table whilst one of Karys' other shield maidens brought in some steaming stew from the bubbling cauldrons outside, which had been set up to begin feeding the men and women made hungry by the long march.

Karys was deep in thought. She thought of of all the men and women outside who were shouting and laughing. They had all come to her side without a question in order to serve House Stark. Of course many of the more noble lords came in order to protect their own families lands and property. But to the smallfolk, they came because they were called, and Karys knew there was a chance many of them would be dead by sunset tomorrow, with nothing gained from their sacrifice.

Karys was not afraid of blood or dead bodies. She had spent so long with Maester Luwin and his predecessor watching the dissection of corpses and treatment of grievous injury that these sights did not perturb her in and of themselves. But she was afraid to die. She was afraid it would hurt, afraid of what she would leave unfinished, afraid of what could lie beyond...

She had once read a copy of The Seven Pointed Star that belonged to Maester Luwin. The Faith of The Seven was almost entirely alien to her in practice, as all of House Stark held to the religion of the Old Gods. However as the dominant religion in Westeros she had a knowledge of its beliefs and practices simply as a matter of education and courtesy for when she would have to mix with southron nobility, or , of course, for when she would be married.

She had read all the words of the prayers and hymns the faithful of the new religion did send up daily to their seven gods. Prayers for health and prayers for wealth, hymn to protect their children from early death and hymns to make the crops grow. Prayers to make daughters virtuous and prayers to make sons bold in war. She had read them all and marvelled at how the southron lords did feel so assured that they could petition the maiden, mother, crone, father, smith, and warrior, and how they could buy their human wants with words and candles.

The Old Gods were not like the New. Yes you could pray to them for health and safety, but you did so knowing that the gods already knew your fate. You could ask for warnings, or barter to avoid the worst of it, you could ask for guidance, but you could not ask the gods to change your fate. And none of it came for free. The Old Gods were not as gentle as The Seven. If you were to die in battle the gods had already foreseen it, and nought could be done to remedy that. And as for what lay beyond...

Of all the seven, Karys had been most fascinated with The Stranger. Seldom prayed to, and possibly the only non-human of the seven, The Stranger alone resonated with what Karys knew of the gods. The fate of the Stranger was inevitable, and he guarded the secrets of what lay beyond this life. Yet Karys had been shocked that The Seven Pointed star had made no mention of what happens after death.

In the North there were as many afterlives as there were northerners. Some on Bear Island believed that the virtuous dead came back to this life in the form of a great white snow bear. Other northerners thought the spirits of the dead became shadow cats or great grey owls. Many warriors believed that the afterlife was one long banquet hall filled with their fallen comrades who had died gloriously in battle. Here they would drink and fight for all eternity in the halls of the Old Gods. Some believed that once beyond the veil of this life, the spirits of the dead could be heard whispering through the trees of the forest, and others thought that the dead looked down on them as the stars in the sky. There were also some who believed that after you died, nothing happened at all.

Karys wondered what her followers believed would happen to them if they died tomorrow. Were they hooping to become stars and shadow cats? Or did they see only as far as the sharp blade and the crushing hammer? Were they simply afraid, just as she was?

She was pulled out of her reverie by Dalla who was gently shaking her arm and asking her to come to dinner. She did not have much of an appetite, and left much of her stew uneaten, a choice she may regret come the morning. She retired early, in order to avoid speaking to any of the other lords who may have last minute requests.

* * *

The morning sun would not be up for 2 hours yet, and it's light would be pale and feeble at best given the clouds that blotted out the last few stars of the night. Already the cam was awake and preparing to advance on Goldgrass. Horses were being saddled and lords and small folk alike adjusted their armour. Karys emptied and restocked her quiver with arrows near enough four time before she was satisfied, and threw the strap across her shoulder.

The stratagem was decided. The advance would be lead by the infantry and pikemen into the town, whilst the cavalry would split into two, with half following the infantry and half remaining outside to attempt to round up any stragglers. The streets of Goldgrass were old and narrow, and a full cavalry force would not be able to make it through. Though all the lords believed that the northmen out numbered the Ironborn, their greater numbers could be a hinderance in such confined spaces, and the Ironborn had the advantage of already being embedded in the town.

Heeding her noblemen's protests, Karys had agreed not to enter the town on this assault. She would remain outside the town walls with a band of mounted archers. She also had a heavy guard of senior warriors at her side for her protection including a exceptionally large axe bearing Umber who seemed all to disappointed to be missing the thick of the action. Dalla too, was by her side, hand axes sharp and strapped to her hips and her bow and quiver thrown over her shoulder. As well as her own bow, Karys also had a sword resting in a quiver on her hip. She was not her older brothers, so her sword was lighter and shorter than a full broadsword, but she was still certain that is her training with Dalla paid off, she would still be able to inflict a good level of damage.

She saw Dalla turn towards her and raise a querying eyebrow. Behind her principal hand and shield maiden she could see the anxiously expectant figures of Lords Mormont, Bolton, Dustin, and their attendants.

Karys closed her eyes briefly and silently prayed to the old gods:

 _"Hear me, gods of my ancestors.  
I stand here weak and afraid at the sight of my first battle.  
Strengthen my arm, make my aim true.  
Let me lead these poor men and women out of these fields more alive than dead.  
And if I am to die today, let it be a glorious death that would please my father.  
And if you know where she is, tell my mother that I am coming to see her again."_

Raising her head she nodded to Dalla, who immediately gave a cry for the archers and Karys' retinue to assemble. Karys marched to wards her older and wiser lords who all inclined their heads at her presence.

"My Lords," she began. "I wish you well today. May the gods be with you in everything, and tonight shall see you again victorious."

"And you my lady" they all muttered back.

Karys saw no need to delay the inevitable with further platitudes. She nodded her head towards the lords and left them to arrange the rest of the troops. She swept over to her own horse and mounted it. Once securely in the saddle, she signalled for her troop to follow her.

* * *

Karys watched from behind the wooden barricades that had been erected overnight on top of one of the ancient burial grounds that dotted the landscape. around her, her company moved from side to side, almost shivering with anticipation. She had around her 30 mounted archers, 50 archers on foot, and 50 again spear and axe bearers. Over the past hour she and her company had seen no more action than firing a few shots at straggling Iron Born who they had spotted trying to flee Goldgrass.

Karys had been hunting before with her sister and brothers. At such a distance, the fleeing Iron islanders had not seem much different to quarry. It was not until she had loosed her arrow at one particularly scrawny fugitive that she felt the difference. Her aim was good and the arrow caught the lad in the shoulder blade. The body hit the floor with a yell, and lay there crumpled.

One of the northern foot soldiers stationed further down the barrow rushed forward and went to finish off the straggler. It was the pitiful pleading that reached Karys. The lad was not dissimilar in age to herself and as the Northman approached he pleaded to be able to return home to see his younger sister. Karys turned her head away from the scene as the northern soldier dealt the final blow. She shouldn't have turned away and deep down inside her a voice told her that she was too weak and feeble for this game. She cursed herself and knew she must find the strength to face the horror that surely lay ahead.

Suddenly they heard the call of a low horn across the plains. The largest section of the northern forces were preparing for their frontal assault on the town.

With a signal, her forces rallied to her. She could see across the barrows other smaller forces lifting barriers, arming their archers, and kicking their horses it gallops down the side of the hills.

Dalla came to Karys' side. Though she was tall, she only came up to Karys' knee. Dala would be leading the Shield maidens, all of whom had promised to die in Karys' defence. Dalla's thick brown hair was braided on one side, whilst the other side had been half shaven. Three thick lies of blue ran from her forehead to jaw, painted on by her fingers. The warpaint transformed the normally jovial Dalla into some kind of creature from an ancient myth. She shot a grin at Karys and said,

"Now all my training comes to its final test. I hope I have not failed you my lady."

Karys smiled back and replied, "you could not fail me if you tried for 1,000 years."

Dalla laughed as she unclasped one of her hand-axes.

"May the gods be with you, my lady. And if they are not, I am!"

Karys grinned as she raised her arm and gave the signal for her forces to make their way down the hillside.

* * *

The narrow streets of Goldgrass were filled with screams and the clanging of metal. Blood ran in rivulets through the paving and down the walls. the dying whinnies of horses were interspersed with the swish and thud of arrows being leased from the windows of homes, and back from the ground below.

Karys and her forces were kept to the outside of the town, as per the request of her lords who did not want the youngest daughter of their leige lord in the hart of the violence. yet there was still carnage here. Ironborn seem to spring out of nowhere. They had been here before the Northerners and had had the advantage of time to prepare for the oncoming army.

Karys and her force were pushing against a particularly stubborn force of Ironborn who were blocking the main way into the central market place. Suddenly a small force rushed out of a concealed alley towards her. The alley had been so well hidden that her protective cohort had left a wide open space for them to attack.

Dalla and her shield maidens were quick to react. Interlocking their shields they pushed back against the sudden onslaught, protecting their lady. Karys saw Dalla's hand axe come crashing down on the skull of one of the Ironborn. With a sickening crunch, his knees gave way and her fell to the ground.

She raised her bow and went to pull out another arrow from her quiver. As she turned to grab one of the arrows from over her shoulder, she caught sight of some Ironborn approaching in her blindspot, swords raised. Hurriedly, she forgot the arrows and went for her sword.

"To me! To me!" she called. The heads of her companions turned instantly.

One of the Ironborn was now barely feet away from her, a blade raised and ready to unhorse her. Without thinking, Karys removed the sword on her hip from its sheath with a rasp. She lunged forward and the blade ran through the man's throat, exiting through his scalp.

Karys stared into the surprised eyes. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her arm shook with adrenaline, but still she didn't tear her eyes away from the face of the Ironborn foot soldier. A heartbeat had been all that separated her from death in that instant. Had she not reacted quickly enough, she would be on the floor dead.

She wondered whether it was fate, the old gods, or simple chance that had decided that this man should die, and she should live. The raging battle around her had become faint. She no longer heard the shouts and cries of the men and women around her. All she could feel was the pounding of her heart in her ears. All she could smell was the metallic tang of blood as it poured from the throat of the impaled man. All she could see was the dying light in those surprised eyes as the soldier's life faded away. A strange sense of clarity and calm washed over her.

Pulling her sword back, she called out to her men to rally round. The strange sense of clarity and purpose remained inside Karys. It didn't burn hot and bright like hope, but sat there bright and unwavering, cold and relentless as the wall. She raised her bloody sword high and shouted in the old tongue

 _"For the North!"_

And all her army roared back to her in the same ancient language

 _"For the North!"_

* * *

Lord Dustin raised his tankard high and roared

"For the North!"

The rest of the hall roared back and the thud of tankard against tankard chimed out like a drunken bell.

Lord Dustin raised his arms for quiet, and with a bellow he continued his toast...

"And for the young lady who has brought us all here today. I have had the honour of riding alongside her father and her elder brother. Today she has shown us that she is cut from the same brae cloth as they. To the lady Karys, and to House Stark"

The men and women gathered once again raised their drinks and repeated " The lady Karys, and House Stark!"

Lord Dustin sat down and the hall once again burst into laughter and chatter.

Karys sat at the head of the table, Lord Dustin and Stout each side of her. Lord Stout, who held Goldgrass was ordering every servant he had to bring out more food and drink. The servants ran the length of the hall and out into the grounds and market place where the northern troops overflowed into the streets.

Karys smiled as she watched the laughter and jostling of her troops.

They had taken victory today against the imbedded Iron islanders. A small force led by Lord Dustin had manoeuvred themselves through the back streets and gardens of the town into the market square, taking the enemy by surprise. They had charged against the reserve soldiers, not yet ready for frontline battle. realising they had been outflanked the Ironborn fled or were cut down.

She was grateful for the kind words of Lord Dustin. However she knew that she was sat here at the head of the table only by the hard work of her bannermen. Where she was youthful and inexperienced, they had provided guidance and expertise. She knew that she would never be able to express her gratitude to them.

She also owed her position to the many smallfolk who swelled the ranks of her army. They had put their lives on the line, and there were many who had fallen today. Though she had never known all their names, she swore she could feel the all weighing on her shoulders.

Her body ached. She was exhausted from the battle and covered with cuts and bruises. Thanks be to the old gods that she suffered nothing more serious. She smiled and made conversation with all in the hall. The large axe-bearing Umber who had been part of her company had unexpectedly fallen to his knees and kissed her hand. A wild Tyroshi from Prince Oberyn's motley band of mercenaries had begged her to dance, until the prince himself had intervened and pulled him away. She had sat and listened to a minstrel sing two songs on repeat, as it seemed he did not know how to play any other tune.

Signalling to Dalla, who had her arms around the shoulders of two other shield maidens singing along to the 10th rendition of 'Wolves in The Hills", Karys rose from the seat and slipped from the hall towards the rooms Lord Stout had set aside from her. Once she was ready for bed, and Dalla had bid her goodnight, she closed her eyes and listened to the continuing festivities below.

If only her father and brothers could see her now. What would they say? As her eyelids grew heavy, and she slipped away into unconsciousness. she thought she could hear their voices

"You are not home yet little wolf."

"Many miles to go"

"are you ready for what is to come?"

"Can you pay the price"

"Winter is coming..."

The voices faded as she slipped into the deep sleep brought on by the exhaustion of the day. But she could still feel the sensation that had been lit inside her when she had made her first kill on the battlefield today. She felt as though it made her stronger. She felt as though it gave her fangs and claws and steel for skin. That cold fire, burning like a winter wind inside her, pouring ice into her veins.


	20. Chapter 20: Struck

Smoke from the campfires rose in thick plumes. Horses whinnied in anticipation. Karys strode through the campsite as she made her way back to her tent. As she pushed through the heavy canvas of the entrance she saw that all her lords were already assembled. Karys greeted them all with a short but courteous nod.

Having used up Lord Stout's hospitality and wine stores the army was finally making its way towards Barrowton. Revived and restored, there was almost a festive air to the camp.

Karys could not share in much of the joy, however. She had only just finished with the account books. For everybody she sent back to a grieving family she included some coins to assist with burial costs. The major lords kept telling her that they had lost far fewer than they should have in the last battle, but none of it helped Karys' guilt. A few coins may not be much, but for the smallfolk of The North in ensured that their loved ones could at least have a funeral.

Burial, burning, or a boat set adrift on the sea. There were many ways a northern funeral could take place. As the old religion had no holy book and no high priest to govern the practices as the High Septon did to the south, the northerners sent their dead to the next world in a variety of ways. Karys could not hep but think of all the funerals that were going to happen because of her actions. All the grieving mothers and fathers, children and siblings. Victory on the battlefield would bring glory, but the weight of the dead that she carried with her felt like a terrible burden.

Seating herself at the top of the wooden table in her tent, she gestured at the other lords to sit down. Another battle loomed ahead, and the northerners needed a strategy. The lords each put forth their plans. Spirits were buoyed by the sojourn at Goldgrass, and the recent victory made the Northern lords far more bold in their suggestions, even pausing to slap one another on the back, laughing at their assured success.

As they haggled and roared, the sons of the various lords slipped into the tent. They passed messages to their lord fathers, as well as bringing them food and wine from the camp outside. Lord Bolton's son Roose gave Karys a deep bow when he entered and kept his eyes fixed on her as he stood behind his unnervingly silent father. Prince Oberyn too slid into the tent. Karys saw the flash of orange and crimson silk from his tunic as he entered, and from the corner of her eye, she watched him take a seat near the back of the tent, his feet resting on a chest, quietly swirling a crude wooden cup full of wine.

Prince Oberyn and the northern lords had come to some kind of accord. Prince Oberyn had proved himself a skilled fighter and cavalryman during the battle of Goldgrass, and had kept his motley crew of Dornishmen and mercenaries from Essos in line. The Northern lords seemed to be showing their esteem for his prowess by respectful silence and not actively causing trouble. Karys thought it was best not to disturb peaceful waters.

After what seemed like hours of energetic but fruitless braying from the lords, Karys could feel her temper fraying. Even though she knew the older lords to be wiser and more experienced than her in war, she could not help but feel that cold fire burning in her once again. The same one that had burned in her as she had killed the man on the battlefield. It was a sense of clear purpose.

With sudden force, Karys pushed back her chair and rose to her feet. Her eyes stayed downcast fixed on the maps in front of her, and she remained standing until the chatter from her lords died down. In a quiet yet firm voice, she spoke slowly, making sure her words were heard.

"My lords. I appreciate that you are all in good spirits. Your wise counsel and bold actions have brought us victory on the field at Goldgrass, and you have a right to be proud."

There was a muted 'hear hear," and noises of congratulations made their way around the table.

"However, the victory has now passed" Karys continued, now raising her eyes to look each of the lords in the eye, but keeping her voice even and without emotion.

"As we sit here drinking the last of Lord Stout's wine and congratulating ourselves on our successes, the Ironborn continue to mock us by occupying, and no doubt ransacking, Barrow Hall. Now I would suggest we come up with a plan sooner rather than later before all that is left of Lord Dustin's home is a pile of rubble and an empty cellar."

The lords shifted uncomfortably in their seats as Karys continued to survey them with an icy stare. When she had decided the silence had gone on long enough to make them uncomfortable, she resumed her seat and spoke again,

"So my lords, does anyone have a serious stratagem for us?"

At that moment the tent opening was pulled to one side and Lord Jeor Mormont strode in, followed by his son Jorah. Bowing quickly he proffered a rolled document, which Karys took from him and opened.

"My lady," he said in his customarily gruff voice, "My son has returned with his scouts from Barrowton. It seems the Ironborn anticipate our attack and have set up substantial defences."

Karys glanced over the rough sketches done by the scouts. Indeed it seemed substantial barricades had already been set up, ready for the approach of the Northmen. Karys lay the parchment on the table and traced a route with her finger.

"Jorah,' she said quietly as she kept her eyes fixed on the parchment, "does this sketch show all the defences, or just the ones on the east side as we approach?"

Jorah Mormont approached. He was of a similar height to her brother Brandon, however, was not as handsome and covered in so much hair, he almost looked like one of the bears from Bear Island.

"No my Lady that is all of them."

"Then it seems the Ironborn are certain we will approach from the east. All the defences are built on that side of the town."

"My lady," Jorah Mormont said uncertainly, "we are to the east and will approach as such."

"But what if we don't?" Karys replied, not just to Jorah but to all the lords present. "What if instead of a direct march into Barrowton we veer south, outflanking the defences and giving the appearance of retreat? It will take us longer and will require great speed if we are to achieve it before they realise what we have done. But we may be able to evade the defences that way, and catch them unawares."

It was a risky plan, but the other lords agreed to it. As she lay on her bed listening to the soft wuthering of the wind outside mingle with the heavy breathing of Frost, who lay like a stone across the foot of the bed, Karys stared at the ceiling of the tent, as though she could see straight through it out to the stars.

She slept dreamlessly for once and woke before the sunrise. She dressed quickly in her boiled leather and armour. Dalla too was already dressed for battle and brought her some warmed small ale and porridge for breakfast. She then strode out to see the troops assembling as the first rays of sunlight crept over the hilltops.

Horses were saddled, armour tightened, and hand axes sharpened. Soon the camp was packing up and setting out on a more southerly made good pace and, despite the longer route, were soon on the approach to Barrowton. Karys was impressed with the speed of her troops and their brisk pace made her confidence grow. Even the weather seemed to be improving, as the sleet and winds subsided and gave way to pale early winter sunshine.

The energy of the troops was rising. The now familiar mix of excitement for potential glory mixed with the fear of death. It was a potent mix and could lead to mistakes and misjudgments if one was not careful. However, Karys was almost serenely confident. The strategy had been approved by the more senior lords and so far everything had gone without a hitch. Karys closed her eyes and muttered a prayer for victory to the old gods.

"My lady," a voice said, interrupting her reverie.

Karys opened her eyes and Lord Dustin stood in front of her with his son William. The crossed axes and blackened crown of their house sigil glowed on their polished breastplates. Lord Dustin wore a grave expression at odds with the excitement shown by many of the other troops. Karys knew that this was because he feared for what was going on inside of Barrow Hall, and what was happening to his family.

"Is everything ready lord Dustin?" Karys enquired. Lord Dustin nodded and pointed at the assembled troops.

"Thank you, my lord," Karys said and once she had mounted her own horse, gave the signal for her cavalry to launch the attack.

The horses ran hard at the south-west approach to Barrowton. Karys could feel the heavy thud of the hooves hitting the ground beneath her. From the corner of her eye she could see the white flash that was Frost, bounding alongside her steed. As she had suspected, the south west side was not as heavily defended, and the few Ironborn who had been posted out there were soon cut down.

The streets of Barrowton were wider than those of Goldgrass, so it would be easier for the cavalry to enter the town. They had planned to make straight for Barrow Hall, and by taking the primary seat, end the fight as quickly as possible. Lord Dustin shouted and urged the northern cavalry on, knocking down any Ironborn guard in his way, his eyes ablaze with the desire to set foot in his home again.

As Karys' troops entered the town however, the cavalry encountered no immediate resistance. There was no awaiting infantry, no heaving mob of Ironborn ready to attack. Karys raised her hand as a signal to slow down, and her troops pulled up behind her. Gesturing to her lords she indicated that some should take the roads to the left, and others the right, as she and her retinue made their way towards the central marketplace.

Suddenly the unmistakeable thrum of an arrow split the air. It landed in the head of a shieldmaiden on the left flank. In less than a breath she crumpled to the floor and was dead.

The Ironborn has taken up positions in the houses that lined the streets on the way to the market square, and now rained down arrows on the northmen below. All was chaos and panic. The northmen had not anticipated attack from above. The shouts and cries that rose from her troops made the advice of her lords indistinguishable from the general clamour, and yet she must give an order. What should she do?

"Foot soldiers!" She shouted, "Shields up and over! Shoulder to shoulder, then FORWARD!"

The infantry raised their shields over their heads whilst standing shoulder to shoulder, creating a dense shell. Then they began to advance as quickly as possible to the open market square.

"Rear Cavalry," Karys continued to yell, until her voice cracked at the edges, "fall back! Fall back and call in our archers. The rest of you, on me!"

The cavalry split, with those behind retreating. Karys meanwhile pulled up the horse and bolted down a narrow side street with the remaining cavalry behind her.

The streets were so narrow, they could only pass in single file. Behind her, Karys could hear someone shouting, but she couldn't hear then over the blood rushing in her ears and the clamour of horses's hooves on the stone cobbled streets. She bolted down the winding alley, trying to find some way back to the centre.

"You!' She roared at the rider behind her - in her haste she had no idea who the rider was - "take that road. You over there, take the next one. Try to rejoin Lords Dustin and Bolton..."

On she cantered through the streets trying to find some way around the archers. The screams and cries of wounded northerners were echoing down the narrow side streets, driving her onwards in distress.

She pulled up fast next to the remains of a looted bakery, whose door was caved in and whose blackened window frame showed the remains of fire damage. Frantically inspecting the left hand path, she saw a straggle of Ironmen running towards what must be the epicentre of the battle. Karys realised that the Ironborn who had previously been stationed to the east had been recalled and were now heading to reinforce those left in the town centre. She looked back at what remained of her retinue. Just 6 other riders remained, including Dalla.

"This way. The other Ironborn are joining from the east. If we come at them from here, we have the element of surprise as we approach from behind."

Dalla, short on breath after the frantic escape, paused and looked at questioningly at Karys.

"My lady," she gasped, "Are you sure? Who knows how many may be out there? Who knows if there are more archers waiting for us? We may be out numbered and out manoeuvred. We cannot ride blindly into the heart of gods know what carnage..."

"What else are we to do?" retorted Karys angrily and somewhat hysterically. "Run from the battle like cowards? I can't. I won't."

"With the greatest respect, my lady," said the gruff voice of Jorah Mormont, who was next in the file of cavalrymen behind his younger aunt, "You are not an experienced warrior, and as the second youngest child of Lord Rickard and acting Warden of The North, your life is too precious to be thrown away on a suicidal gamble. You should return to the camp at once for your own protection."

At that moment, Karys once again felt that strange, cold fire ignite inside her. She could feel the icy flames licking at her heart and a cool and purposeful tranquility fell over her.

"You are right lord Jorah." Karys said in a quiet voice, "I am the acting Warden. And I will not let my countrymen die for me whilst I run and cower. You would not ask my brothers to do that. My father would never do that. If I die, I die doing my duty as a loyal northerner amongst my countrymen, who have laid their lives down for me today as their ancestors laid down theirs for the Starks who came before me. If you want to run, go ahead. I'll not stand in the way of the destiny the Old Gods have written down for me. They alone know if today is the day I die. So are you with me?"

Everyone of the riders nodded their heads, and Karys kicked her steed into a run down the narrow left hand path. Her bow and arrow would be no use to her in the close quarter melee that waited on the other end of the road. She drew her sword from its sheath as they approached.

The riders burst from the dark side street into the light and the heart of the battle. The first ironborn that Karys saw, she pulled back her sword and swung at his neck. The head rolled back as a thick red river poured down his front. Karys pulled back her sword and slashed again and again, pulling the reigns of her horse around, making the animal twirl on the spot in some kind of deadly dance. She called out in the old tongue to the other northerners.

 _"Rally to me...Left!...Make for Barrow Hall..."_

A large mace swag perilously close to her right side, and caused Karys to lurch awkwardly to the left in her saddle, almost losing her purchase completely. Just in time Dalla, who was already unhorsed, appeared out of nowhere and staved in the man's skull with one of her hand axes. She flashed Karys a wide grin, which was made all the more menacing by her blood spattered face. Karys grinned back. Then from nowhere...

 ***THWUMP***

Karys rocked in her saddle, unsure of what had happened. She saw Dalla's face fall and her mouth open to shout something. Karys looked down at her leg and saw an arrow protruding from her thigh. It had pierced her on the inside of the thigh that was exposed due to her lurching in her saddle to avoid the mace. Blood had begun to pour through the leather and, in a strangely absent minded memory of her lessons with the maester at Winterfell, Karys thought that it must be her femoral artery that had been struck. then the pain exploded in her leg.

Suddenly two more arrows flew through the air and hit her horse in the neck. The animal screamed and its legs gave way. Karys felt time slow down as she tumbled through the air. The ground approached her with a terrifying sluggishness, before she hit it full force, with a sickening crunch.

Pain took over all of Karys' body. Her struck leg was still twisted in the stirrup of her dying steed, wrenching it out of place. Her head rang with the force of impact and the metallic smell of iron filled her nostrils. Desperately she tried to breath, but her nose and mouth were full and instead of air, she choked on her own blood.

She could hear distant cries of dismay. Someone, somewhere was screaming her name. It sounded like Dalla. All the time, blood continued to pour from her thigh. Karys tried to lift her head to see what was happening. All she could see were the legs of the warriors, and the already cold bodies of the fallen. Suddenly a large shadow fell over her, blotting out the pale winter sunshine. She tried to raise her head to see who it was - friend or foe - but she had become too dizzy. The shadow seemed to raise its arms above its head...

Karys felt a strange sensation as the realisation that she was about to die hit her. She closed her eyes and felt as if she was soaring. Her heart pounded as if she was running at full pelt, panting heavily with the effort. The smell of blood filled her and created a desperation inside her. She felt as though she was hurtling through the legs of the warriors still on their feet and over the bodies of the dead who lay on the ground.

With every last piece of energy in her, she leapt up with a great snarl. She saw the terror on the face of the man who held an axe over his head. She threw her whole weight against him and fastened her jaws around his neck, his warm blood pouring over her tongue as he fell to the floor. She tore at his throat again and again as he lay there, her paws pressing down on his chest.

Then blackness and screaming. Next, nothing. Suddenly, a white hot pain seared through every part of her body and made her scream.

Then once again,

Nothing.


	21. Chapter 21: Trust

Karys was freezing cold. It was as if she had wandered out of her warm chambers in Winterfell, straight into the yard in her nightshift. Numbness gripped her limbs. She could not feel her feet. The numbness crept up her legs before being broken by sharp stabbing pains. She wanted to cry out for her father, for her dead mother, for her sister and brothers, but all that left her throat was a pitiful wavering howl.

She was surrounded by darkness, but periodically she could see shapes moving in the darkness, skulking in the corners of her vision. Then strange bursts of light and images would appear before her, like speeding glances from the window of a fast-moving carriage. Each one fading to black as suddenly as it appeared

The images were the ones that she had seen in her dreams before so many times. The ruby filled river, the rose petals. But now there was another image. She could see the man who had stood above her with the axe. He was lying at her feet, his throat torn out. The heady scent of fresh blood filled her nostrils and made her stomach growl. Or maybe the growl came from in her throat...

She approached the man with caution and sniffed the body. Suddenly she saw movement out the corner of her eyes. She saw the familiar wolf with the swollen belly walking along the river. The soft sound of the snow crunching under the wolf's paws was the only sound that could be heard. The wolf loped along the riverside, it's head downcast. It loped across the barren, icy ground and turned away towards deep red mountains in the distance.

Karys turned towards the mountains and sniffed the air. There was a faint scent on the warm breeze to the south. It smelled of warm spiced wine and something sweet and sharp. Intrigued, she made a few tentative steps towards the mountains.

Suddenly, the earth shuddered and there was a pounding of hooves behind her. Scrambling, Karys barely got out the way as a great stallion thundered past. She saw the grey and white banners fluttering from the horse's fastenings. The figure turned towards Karys, and though she could not see the face of the armoured man due to his helmet, she felt no fear and something in the shape of the figure felt familiar. She instantly felt the urge to follow, to run at the side of the horse and go with him. But as she tried to bound forward, the pain in her thigh burned white hot and pulled her back, just as a fisherman's hook hauls in the trout.

Karys tried to fight against it, but the more she fought the more it burned. The landscape in front of her grew dim, and she felt her eyes turn in their sockets. Flailing wildly she desperately tried to follow the disappearing horseman.

"My lady. My lady. Are you alright?"

Karys blinked. Slowly the woven ceiling of the tent came into focus. A cool cloth was being pressed to her forehead.

"My lady?"

Karys turned and saw the pale and concerned face of Dalla over her. She cleared her throat, and tried to move, but now the pain burnt again.

Groaning she tried to haul herself up pulling against the bedcovers, but Dalla pushed her back.

"My lady, please lie down. You have been injured. You must rest."

Falling back against the pillows, Karys had a sense of dread in her. Injured. What would that mean? What would her leg look like? Would she walk?

Dalla presented her with a bowl of thick white liquid and Karys drank. Choking back tears Karys closed her eyes and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

When she awoke many hours later, the light in the tent had shifted from pale dawn to bright noontide. Blinking she raised herself on the bed. Heavy wool sheets and furs fell as she looked around the tent. Across the end of the bed lay Frost who raised her head at the rising of her mistress.

"You are awake. How do you feel?"

Karys turned and saw Dalla folding sheets next to her bed.

"Groggy." Karys replied and she attempted to extricate herself from the bed. However as soon as she made to move herself a stab of pain caught her and she inhaled sharply.

"My lady," Dalla said as she approached the bed, "I think it would be best if you did not try to move. You were injured quite gravely."

Karys placed her hand on the blanket that covered her thigh.

"Is it terrible? Will I walk?"

Dalla gave a small smile, but the crease in her brow made it known that it was not all good news.

"What happened?" Karys asked, voice quavering sightly.

"During the fight, at the heart of the battle, you and your horse were struck by arrows. Your horse gave way and you were thrown from the saddle. Your leg was pulled from it's joint, and you bled quite profusely."

Karys tried to remember everything that happened, but the images that came to her were blurry, and as though she were watching through someone else's eyes. strangely it was the thought of her poor horse that hurt the most, and hot tear pricked her eyes as she thought of the brave beast who had carried her all the way from Winterfell. But Dalla continued.

"Thanks to the efforts of your shield maidens, my nephew Jorah, my brother and Prince Oberyn, you were escorted from the field and returned to camp. You were gravely injured, and we did fear the worst. Then there was an argument..."

"An argument?"

Dalla sat on the edge of the bed and shifted uncomfortably.

"There was an argument as to how you should be treated. My brother advocated for bringing in the healer, but he was at the other end of the camp treating the wounded. Prince Oberyn on the other hand pointed out that you were bleeding heavily and that in the time it took to fetch the healer you could die. He said he could help..."

Dalla rolled her eyes and sighed deeply before continuing.

"However, my brother was adamant that if Prince Oberyn so much as touched you, the prince would lose a hand. So they shouted and threatened as I was trying to clean your wound. They bellowed at each other and then... well it all happened so suddenly. No one had seen Prince Oberyn place his sword in the fire, but he pulled it from the hearth and pressed it to your leg as quick as lightning. My brother was apoplectic, screaming that the Prince was insane and had deformed you."

At this Karys pulled back the sheets at looked at her leg. A poultice had been strapped around her entire thigh and she removed it wincing as the raw flesh was exposed. A thick band of burt flesh stretched in a band across her bruised and wounded thigh. It was lividly red and white with the burn and it was raised and puckered in strange lines. Upon closer inspection, Karys saw the outline of a serpent running up her leg. It must have been the image embossed on the prince's sword.

"In Prince Oberyn's defence, it stopped the bleeding, though he may have regretted it once my brother thrashed him. Whilst they were being separated, the healer arrived. We reset your leg and waited for you to come around. It has been over a day, but by the mercy of the gods you are awake. Whether this injury heals fully is now in their hands."

Karys gingerly replaced the poultice and contemplated her mangled leg.

"The battle," she said as though the thought only just struck her. "Who won the battle?"

"We did my lady. Though there were heavy casualties, we took Barrow Hall and hold it. The ironborn have been driven from the town to the nearby plains. If you are able, tonight we shall all eat in Barrow Hall at the hospitality of Lord Dustin."

And so that evening Karys was taken from her tent in a fur lined cart and moved to Barrow Hall where Lord Dustin threw as lavish a feast as possible with what the Ironborn had left behind. Flush with success the northmen and women drank and danced until well into the evening.

Karys was seated at the head of the hall alongside Lord Dustin. Immobilised by her injury, he ensured he was never short of food or drink. Indeed her cup was never empty and soon she could feel the wine numbing the pain that still pierced her thigh. Recognising her senses were becoming dulled, Karys thought that she should start making her way to the rooms Lord Dustin had had prepared for her. However the hall doors opened and one of the guards from the gatehouse rushed in.

The guard bowed nervously and presented a folded piece of parchment to Lord Dustin. Lord Dustin took it from him, opened it and read the contents. His thick eyebrows raised in shock and his eyes flashed with fury. He turned to Karys,

My lady, the ironmen have had the nerve to outline demands!"

Lord Dustin's voice grew louder with his rage, so that the whole hall could hear his anger at the audacity of the invaders.

"They claim they will leave The North peaceably if we provide them with a ransom including not only gold, but luxury goods and saltwives to take with them."

The hall then echoed with roars of displeasure. Saltwives were the concubines of the ironborn. Whilst they were only permitted one 'rock wife' on the islands, they could keep many saltwives whom they had captured form raids. To send northern women to this fate was seen as a high insult to all in the hall.

The northern lords raised the voices in anger declaring that they should only meet the ironmen in the field, and would not consent to such negotiations. Still drowsy from the wine Karys knew she could make no decisions tonight and bade her bannermen to rest and that she would discuss this with them in the morning. The pain in her leg throbbed and though the lords protested, she grew impatient and ordered her shield maidens to help her to her rooms.

Once dressed in her nightgown, all but Dalla departed. As her handmaiden helped her get comfortable she asked Karys a question.

"Will you entertain these negotiations?"

"Dalla," Karys began, exhaustion creeping into her voice, "I am in too much pain and to exhausted to make any decisions right now."

"But my lady...Karys. How will you allow good women, perhaps even your own shield maidens, to be taken off to live the life of nothing more than a low dishonour an the..."

"Dalla," Karys said, a note of annoyance in her voice now, "I have come to no decisions yet. I must sleep on it."

Knowing herself to be chastened, Dalla nodded, and dipping her head retired to the antechamber, leaving Karys alone to sleep.

But sleep would not come. The messenger's announcement had taken the shine away from Karys' joy at victory. The pain in her leg throbbed and her head filled with ideas on what to do next.

After what seemed like hours of chaotic thoughts, Karys called out into the semi-darkness of the room:

"Dalla come here. I need you to fetch someone to me."

Dalla appeared in her nightshirt, hair braided.

"If you need help my lady, I would like to assist you. Please forgive me for speaking out of turn."

Karys smiled and said,

"Nothing to forgive Dalla, but I need the advice of someone specific. Please bring me Prince Oberyn"

Dalla stared at her quizzically. "Prince Oberyn?"

"Yes," said Karys, unflinchingly, "if you could."

Realising the matter was settled, Dalla left the room to fetch the prince.

Karys pulled the bed furs around her. The plan she had envisaged would not be easy, and it would not be one her father or brothers would approve of. However she knew what was at stake, and knew that though the northern forces had been severely depleted and would probably not survive another assault in the field.

Soon enough there was a knock at the door and Dalla entered. Following behind her was the prince of Dorne, who gave a deep bow as he approached her bed.

"Thank you Dalla. Could you leave us a moment? There is something I would like to discuss with his highness."

Dalla shot Karys a confused look and eyed the prince suspiciously. Karys was grateful for her protective nature, but right now she could not let Dalla know of the plan.

"If you could wait outside, Dalla" Karys repeated, firmly, and Dalla left.

"I hope you will forgive the late hour, Prince Oberyn," Karys said politely, gesturing to a nearby chair which Oberyn sank into with a flourish.

"Not at all my lady, I am somewhat of a night owl and was not asleep. Your summons did not disturb me," Oberyn assured her with a wide grin that Karys noticed creased his eyes.

"First of all Prince Oberyn, I must offer you my thanks. It has been reported to me that I owe my life to your actions. I am forever in your debt."

"Think nothing of it my lady. It is part of the role of Prince to help ladies in need."

"As I understand it your highness, that sort of rescue normally involves releasing them from towers, not cauterising wounds on a battlefield."

"Ah... but wounded women so often have the better stories," Prince Oberyn grinned, opening his arms palms up as if to show it was a fact as simple as 2 half pennies making 1.

Karys could not resist smiling a little back.

"Nonetheless, you did save my life and I am deeply grateful. I and house Stark are in your debt."

"Thank you my lady. I hope to call that debt in at an opportune moment." After a short pause he added. "Tell me, do you feel well? Is it healing?"

Karys assessed the dornishman. The smirk was gone and the question seemed honest. So she replied sincerely,

"I am as well as I can hope to me. There is pain, but nothing that I cannot recover from."

Prince Oberyn nodded, then glanced around the room before speaking again.

"I cannot imagine you have called me to your rooms at this late hour simply for polite conversation. So please let me know how I may serve you."

Karys paused. What she was about to ask of Prince Oberyn was potentially scandalous. Moreover, the man was little more than a stranger to her, who owed her nothing. If he revealed to anyone what she was about to say...

"Prince Oberyn, I have a question I would like to ask you, but it is highly delicate and I would like your word that you will never speak of it to another living soul..."

At this Oberyn raised his eyebrow, both in amusement and in intrigue. He dipped his head to one side, and assessed Karys for an uncomfortably long time. Karys pulled the furs closer around her, mostly out of embarrassment under his gaze. As she did so she became aware of a faint smell of warm spiced wine and something sweet yet sharp that Prince Oberyn had brought into the room with him...

"As we have seen my lady," Prince Oberyn eventually responded, "you can trust me with your life..."

The sentence hung in the air as Karys considered this before making her decision...

"Very well. Here it is..."


End file.
